


An Innocent Obsession

by Elle_Morgan_Black



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death Eaters, F/M, Obsession, Older Man/Younger Woman, Secret Relationship, War Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-27
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-24 13:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 120,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13811865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elle_Morgan_Black/pseuds/Elle_Morgan_Black
Summary: A pureblood Death Eater. A brilliant young muggleborn witch. An innocent attraction that becomes an obsession. An obsession that will turn the tide of war and change the wizarding world forever.





	1. First Meeting, 1992

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: this is a FICTIONAL story depicting a somewhat obsessive relationship between a young woman who is barely an adult in the magical world and a much older man. Certain scenes in this story are deliberately written in such a way as to make some people uncomfortable. Please also note that I am well aware that a relationship between real people with a similar age gap and situation is problematic. Again, it's fiction. Proceed with caution. 
> 
> I am (obviously) not JK Rowling. She owns the characters and the wizarding world. I'm just playing in her sandbox with a plot of my own. Thank you to Ariel Riddle and Lovergurrl411 for their suggestions and encouragement. Thoughts, comments, and constructive feedback are always welcome.

### 

### First Meeting, 1992 

Hermione Granger was 12 – almost 13 – that day in Flourish & Blotts when she first met Lucius Malfoy.  

She’d known and disliked his son for a year now, and in her humble opinion, he was nothing special. Sure, Draco Malfoy was smart enough to earn marks almost as high as her own, but he was a bully and a braggart and one she suspected would not be nearly so tough without his hulking dumb bodyguards Crabbe and Goyle around.

Thus when she spotted Malfoy at the bookstore, leaning over the railing looking down on the peons below, she grimaced and ducked her head, hoping to go unnoticed. Her parents had insisted on coming along to help her purchase school supplies, and the last thing she wanted was for the resident bully to humiliate her in front of her parents.

Luck was not on her side though, as Draco Malfoy pushed through the crowd there to meet author Gilderoy Lockheart and sought out Harry just to taunt him. It made her blood boil. Harry didn’t deserve Malfoy’s hatred. He’d done nothing wrong!

What looked like it could turn into a fight between Harry and Malfoy was broken up then by a man who could only be Draco’s father. He was tall and had long pale blond hair that hung down over his shoulders. The man clasped a firm hand on Draco’s shoulder. His eyes passed leisurely over their little group, and Hermione fought a shudder as his cold, grey eyes looked her up and down.

She knew she wasn’t a beautiful girl. She wasn’t tall and blonde like Lavender. She didn’t have curves like Parvati. She knew the unkind things her fellow students whispered about her. Wizards and witches really weren’t all that more creative in their insults than her muggle grade school classmates had been. Her hair was a bushy, tangled mass of brown curls she could barely manage, and her front teeth were, well, they were unseemly large given that her parents were dentists. Still, she she had dressed carefully for this visit to the wizarding world, and she knew there was nothing about her appearance that anyone could find overly objectionable. She was dressed like a proper young witch.

She looked up and her eyes met the elder Malfoy’s, and to Hermione’s shock, she realized that he was handsome. It was unexpected, to be sure, given her distaste for his son, but Mr. Malfoy was, well, she realised with quick intake of breath that he was far more pleasing to look at than even Gilderoy Lockheart. She could see traces of Draco in his father, but where Draco was overly slender like Ron and Harry, Mr. Malfoy was broad shouldered in his elegant and obviously expensive robes. Where Draco was pointy-faced, age had softened his father’s features into a visage that she was certain made grown witches swoon.

How had she possibly thought Lockheart - soon to be Professor Lockheart - handsome? He was a pretender, a pathetic shadow in comparison to the wizard before her. It wasn’t just his physical appearance though. There was something there, something she couldn’t quite explain to describe no matter how hard she tried. He had a _presence_. He swept into the bookstore and commanded the place. It was vaguely reminiscent of the way Professor Snape took command of a classroom, but somehow more refined, more elegant.

Regal. Yes, that was the correct word. Lucius Malfoy was regal, and Hermione found herself strangely dazzled by him.

She was shaken from her stupor by the man’s conversation with Harry, dear sweet, brave Harry who refused to be intimidated by Draco’s father. She didn’t want to call attention to herself and give Draco an opening to say something hateful to her, but she couldn’t possibly stay silent when Harry was brave enough to say aloud in such a public place that Voldemort killed his parents.

She did not know where she found the courage to stand up to him, but before she could stop herself, she glared up at the handsome but intimidating wizard and firmly stated, “Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself.”

He turned his attention on her then, and she held her breath at the sneering voice.

“And you must be… Miss Granger. Yes, Draco’s told me _all_ about you.”

She swallowed hard.

“And your parents,” he continued.

His voice was quiet, his speech measured. A shiver of fear went down her spine as she followed his piercing gaze to where her parents stood near the register, talking to Percy Weasley.

“Muggles, aren’t they?” he said.

The hint of a smile on his face was merely an act, she knew this, knew it instinctively, and it both terrified and thrilled her. Summoning all of her Gryffindor courage, she raised her chin defiantly at him and met his stare with one of her own. One pale eyebrow lifted just ever so, and had she not been watching him so intently she would have missed it.

He turned his attention then to the Weasleys, and the conversation disintegrated from there but Hermione scarcely heard a word of it. She had just stared down Lucius Malfoy! She had held her own against the most intimidating, regal wizard she’d ever met.

That night as she lie awake in her bed, replaying the events of the day in her head, she realised with a start that Mr. Malfoy’s words - “And you must be Miss Granger. Draco’s told me all about you,” - meant that he knew of her well before she knew anything about him. She doubted Draco had anything nice to say about her, but at a bare minimum, she felt certain that Mr. Malfoy knew that she’d bested his son at Hogwarts during their first year.

She’d worked hard to receive the top marks in their year, and she’d been proud of her accomplishment, but now the scores took on a new meaning. Her scores were proof that despite whatever pureblood supremacist garbage was spewed by other students, she belonged at Hogwarts, she _belonged_ in the magical world.

And Lucius Malfoy knew it.

That night in her bed in her very muggle house, with her muggle parents down the hall asleep, Hermione vowed to herself that she would prove her worth to Lucius Malfoy. She would be the best student Hogwarts had seen in years. She would best Draco Malfoy in every possible subject. She would be a strong, powerful, brilliant witch, and one day, Lucius Malfoy would look at her in awe.

Years later, she would look back on that day and want to laugh at her naivete and cry over how easily it all spun out of control.


	2. Second Year, 1992-1993

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pureblood Death Eater. A brilliant young muggleborn witch. An innocent attraction that becomes an obsession. An obsession that will turn the tide of war and change the wizarding world forever.

### Second Year, 1992-1993

 

She was still secretly dwelling on the blond wizard when she returned to Hogwarts for her second year. As with any situation, when Hermione Granger wanted to know something, she went to the library, and this was no different.

While Harry practised quidditch and Ron played chess with his friends in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione sought refuge in the library, setting aside her schoolwork to research the Malfoy family. In the “Pureblood Directory,” she found a history of magical Britain’s ‘purest’ families. She devoured the section on the Malfoy family, learning that the family’s ancestral home was located in Wiltshire, although Armand Malfoy - or Malfoi - had come to England from France. The estate in Wiltshire was a gift from the muggle King William I. Hermione’s eyebrows rose at that. She knew from her history of magic texts that wizards and witches had once lived openly among muggles, but seeing it as part of someone’s family history was rather spectacular.

As she read on, she had to grudgingly admit that she could understand why Draco Malfoy was the way he was. His ancestors consorted with kings and queens. They moved among the upper classes of both the muggle and magical worlds prior to the Statute of Secrecy. The book waxed on about notable members of the Malfoy family, and Hermione sighed wistfully. She didn’t care about the trappings of wealth, but that history, to come from so many who’d played important roles in the muggle and magical world... No wonder Lucius Malfoy walked as if he ruled the world. He practically did. Her fingertips grazed gently over pictures in the directory of famous Malfoys. It was written in 1930, so Lucius wasn’t there, but she looked for hints of him - the icy grey eyes, the sharpness of jaw, the pale colouring that made him stand out so in her mind, in the photos of his ancestors.

“Conflict in Magical Britain: the 20th Century,” detailed the rise and fall of both Gellert Grindelwald and Lord Voldemort, and in the pages of text, she found more information about Lucius. During Voldemort’s rise to power, Lucius held various positions in the Ministry of Magic, and in the final years of the war, he was rumoured to be among Voldemort’s trusted inner circle of followers. Hermione’s eyes widened in horror as she read about his arrest in late 1981 and subsequent trial before the Wizengamot. No one disputed that he was marked - Lord Voldemort’s skull and snake mark was branded on the inside of his left forearm - but he claimed innocence, insisting that he’d been under the _imperious_ curse and had not acted of his own free will.

Hermione felt conflicted as she read. He’d been a Death Eater, a follower of the dark wizard who murdered her best friend’s parents. The idea that she was fascinated by him, _attracted_ to him in some way made her feel more than a little dirty. It was wrong.

And yet, she couldn’t help herself.

She devoured every bit of information she could find in the Hogwarts library about his trial and the trials of other Death Eaters following the war. Many were sentenced to Azkaban, but Lucius was among a handful found not guilty. The verdict made Hermione feel if not innocent and least less guilty about her secret fascination with the man. Surely the Wizengamot would not dream of letting a guilty man go free! He must have presented compelling evidence of his innocence.

She tried to imagine what it must be like to spend months under the _imperius_ curse, one of the wizarding world’s few unforgivable curses. How horrible to have someone else controlling your body, your mind! At 13 and brilliant but still rather naive about the world, Hermione felt sad for Lucius Malfoy. What was it like to be under a curse like that? Was he capable of enjoying his life, his time with his baby son? Did he remember anything he’d supposedly done during that time? How horrified he must have been to emerge from the control of the curse to see that horrid mark on his arm!

As Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones doodled Gilderoy Lockheart’s name all over their parchments, Hermione scoffed at her classmates’ silly infatuations, all the while  surreptitiously clipping stories from the _Daily Prophet_. Alone in her dorm with her bed curtains drawn, she saved snippets of information about Lucius Malfoy, small bits of newsprint providing scant glimpses at his life. He was everywhere. He sat on the Hogwarts Board of Governors and on the board at St. Mungo’s Hospital. He was an advisor to the Minister for Magic. He was even part owner of the Puddlemere United quidditch team. She dutifully clipped every moving photo of him, pressing it carefully into a notebook she kept locked in her school trunk.

The photos and the bits of information about his life were proof to Hermione that her childish crush was acceptable. He was an upstanding member of society. Surely if the Wizengamot believed him guilty of horrible crimes under Voldemort, they would have sent him to prison or at least ostracized him from the community. Yet she had proof in scraps of newsprint that he was well-respected, a leader, a philanthropist even.

Draco’s inclusion on the Slytherin quidditch team might have been an annoyance for Harry, as it escalated their rivalry tremendously, but it was a godsend for Hermione because it meant that every time Slytherin played, Lucius Malfoy would be in the stands watching. This was proof to Hermione that he was a caring and devoted father. There were a handful of parents who came to the school’s quidditch games, particularly for the end of season championship match, but Lucius was there every single time Slytherin played Gryffindor. Hermione didn’t particularly want to sit through the other houses’ games, but if Slytherin was playing and Harry and Ron wanted to go to the match, Hermione went without complaint so she could watch Mr. Malfoy from afar.

Lucius - she’d begun to think of him as that rather than the more formal Mr. Malfoy, or Lord Malfoy per the title he technically held - usually sat with Professor Snape or any other visiting school Governors. He was always fastidiously dressed in formal dark robes, his long blond hair usually tied back to keep it out of his face in the wind. He didn’t yell or cheer exuberantly, but she mentally noted his applause and his expression of genuine pride when Draco played well. He was restrained in his emotions and gestures, but he seemed to truly enjoy watching his son play. It only further endeared him to Hermione.

It wasn’t until after Christmas that she finally caught a glimpse of Mrs. Malfoy in the newspaper. She knew that Lucius was married - Draco regularly crowed about the sweets his mother owled him every week at Hogwarts - but she’d conveniently chosen to ignore that as her crush flourished into the beginnings of an obsession. All of her fantasies about someday engaging in stimulating conversation with Lucius, conversations in which he acknowledged her intellect and was impressed with her keen mind, conveniently ignored that there was indeed a Mrs. Malfoy at home in Wiltshire.

The _Daily Prophet_ had run an extra page of photos from the Malfoy family’s Yule Ball, an annual event that raised funds for St. Mungo’s, and front and center was a photo of the Malfoy family. Draco looked stiff in his dress robes and bored out of his mind. Lucius looked regal and so very handsome, very clearly the lord of the manor. And Mrs. Malfoy… Narcissa Malfoy was stunningly beautiful. She was tall and slender, like the supermodels who walked the runways in muggle fashion shows, with long blonde hair piled up on her head. She had a hint of a sneer on her face, which made her look haughty and cold, but she was still gorgeous.

Hermione’s mood was further soured by the on-going drama surrounding the mythical Chamber of Secrets. It hurt more than she’d ever admit to Harry or Ron when Lucius’s son called her a ‘mudblood’ and said she’d be next, and then to add insult to injury, she wound up in the hospital wing as a half-cat following her botched attempt at polyjuice. Narcissa Malfoy was beautiful and perfect, and she, Hermione Granger, was a bushy-haired, buck-toothed half-cat. It was so unfair.

It might have been worth it if Harry and Ron had figured out who the Heir of Slytherin was, but all they’d done was eliminate Malfoy. She had tried to tell them beforehand that it wasn’t him. Had the Malfoy family been directly descended from Salazar Slytherin, it surely would have been mentioned in the “Pureblood Directory.”

Once recovered from her cat hair mishap, Hermione spent the bulk of her spring searching for answers about the Chamber of Secrets. Finally one cold, damp night, she stumbled across the answer in the far recesses of the library: a basilisk! It had to be a basilisk! She had to let Harry know! In her haste, she ripped the page on basilisks straight from the book.

She made her way carefully through the castle halls, basilisk paper clutched in one hand, mirror in the other. She was nearing the last set of stairs that would take her to Gryffindor tower when she caught a glimpse of the basilisk through the mirror.

Being petrified was awful.

She’d heard somewhere that sometimes people in a coma could hear what was being said around them. Petrification was similar, she supposed, but her eyes were open and frozen. This was perplexing and disturbing, as she was alive, but she wasn’t breathing and she wasn’t blinking. She didn’t want to think on this, and yet she couldn’t help it because she had nothing else to do but observe whatever was in her range of sight, listen to what was said around her, and think.

It was during this miserable period of petrification that she came face to face with Lucius Malfoy again. She did not know why he was there or what he was doing, but he suddenly appeared in her field of view as she lay helplessly frozen on the hospital bed. He tilted his head at her as he studied her frozen physique.

“Miss Granger. We meet again,” he said quietly. “So unfortunate that you find yourself in such a state.”

His eyes were so cold and so penetrating that she would have shivered if she’d been able to move. He stepped back as if to leave but then stopped as something caught his eye. His hand, clad in a black leather glove, reached out to her own frozen extended hand.

“What’s this?”

‘Yes! Yes, oh please, yes!’ she thought frantically to herself. She’d been clutching that basilisk paper for ages, and no one had even noticed.

He deftly plucked the paper from her hand and unraveled it. His eyes widened in surprise before they met hers again, and his mouth turned up in a hint of a smirk.

“A basilisk. That is...oddly fitting I suppose, given the connection to Salazar Slytherin. I see the rumours are true. You are indeed a clever girl, Miss Granger.”

He thought she was clever! He’d touched her hand and thought her clever, and she couldn’t help but think him clever as well for he’d found the paper clutched in her hand when no one else had, not even Madam Pomfrey had noticed! For a brief shining moment, she was so proud of herself: Lucius Malfoy was impressed with her! She wished she could smile at him and explain how she’d discovered the basilisk.

She watched in frozen silence as he rolled the scrap of paper back up and carefully inserted it back into her hand. She silently pleaded with him to take the paper from her hand again, to tell Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, even Professor Snape would be acceptable at this point. SOMEONE needed to know!

“It is strange, is it not, that a mere slip of a girl figured out what the hapless faculty here apparently could not? I wonder how long it will take them.” He seemed to be at once talking to her frozen form and to himself.

She screamed at him in her mind as he turned on his heel and walked away.

His actions that day puzzled her, and continued to puzzle her after Harry told her Mr. Malfoy was the one who put the diary in Ginny’s cauldron, and that he’d attempted to curse Harry for freeing Dobby the house elf. Could Mr. Malfoy have known what horror would be released from the Chamber? Or did he just want to plant a dark object on Arthur Weasley’s daughter to embarrass and discredit him? She’d missed so much during her petrification, and the version of events as told by Harry and Ron was far from unbiased.

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t tell Harry or anyone else about Mr. Malfoy’s brief visit to the hospital wing.

It was the first of many questionable decisions she would make where he was concerned.

 


	3. Third Year,1993-1994

###  Third Year,1993-1994

  


Her third year at Hogwarts left Hermione feeling rather unsettled with regard to Lucius Malfoy. She learned over the summer that he’d been sacked from his position on the Hogwarts Board of Governors for trying to get Professor Dumbledore fired over the whole basilisk-in-the-castle thing. 

She liked Professor Dumbledore. He’d been nothing but kind to her since she arrived in the magical world. However, she couldn’t exactly disagree with Mr. Malfoy’s arguments to the rest of the board and to the Ministry: a dangerous magical beast roamed the halls of Hogwarts, petrifying students, and it was a miracle no one was killed. 

If she, a second year student, could figure out that Slytherin’s beast was a basilisk, why couldn’t Professor Dumbledore? Why couldn’t any professor figure it out and put a stop to it? Why did saving Ginny and the school have to fall on Harry’s small shoulders? A small traitorous part of her couldn’t help but think Lord Malfoy was in the right to want to get rid of their headmaster, but she dared not mention this to anyone. 

The next time she saw the handsome blond wizard was the result of his son’s arrogance and stupidity. The school year had barely begun when Draco insulted Hagrid’s hippogriff, Buckbeak, and the creature’s sharp talons ripped open Malfoy’s arm. She felt badly for Hagrid that his first class ended so poorly, especially since he’d given everyone proper instructions. It wasn’t really his fault that Malfoy didn’t listen. 

On the day she was reunited with Lord Malfoy, she spun her time turner to slip from divination to ancient runes and moved quickly and quietly down the castle halls to get to her next class. She just so happened to be in the right place at the right time to see Mr. Malfoy emerge from Professor Dumbledore’s office looking rather angry. 

He stopped short in the hall when he saw her. 

“Miss Granger, isn’t it?”

She stopped as well and clutched her books to her chest to hide the time turner she’d not yet tucked back into her robes. She’d wished the last time she saw him that she’d been able to speak, but now that she could, she was unsure what to say to him. He knew she was intelligent, but how to make him see that despite her muggle birth, she was worthy of the title ‘witch?’

“Yes. Hello Lord Malfoy,” she said formally. 

His eyebrows rose at her use of his ancestral title. It would be expected from a pureblood child, but not a muggleborn, and she could tell she’d surprised him. 

“My, but you are an enigma, Miss Granger.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“How is it that a child of muggles wields magic so easily that she can best pureblood children from the most ancient and noble magical families? Or is it more of Dumbledore’s favoritism? He always has twisted the odds in favor of his lions,” he mused, a sneer on his face. 

“I devote a lot of time to my studies. I work very hard,” she said earnestly. Surely Professor Dumbledore saw that. She had earned all of her marks! She was both thrilled and uncomfortable with his attention and the hard stare he fixed on her. 

“And yet here you are, walking the halls of Hogwarts. Should you not be in class Miss Granger?” he drawled, glancing up and down the empty hallway.

She swallowed hard. Professor McGonagall had been very specific that she not tell anyone about her time turner use.

“I have...special permission from Professor McGonagall, sir,” she said, hoping her voice didn’t shake. He was so handsome and yet so intimidating.

“Is that so?”

“Yes sir. And you? Why are you here, Lord Malfoy? Parents generally are not allowed on school grounds in the middle of the week,” she asked, raising her chin defiantly at him. 

The slight flare of his nostrils was the only outward sign that she may have angered him. 

“When an unqualified professor fails to contain a dangerous beast, nearly killing  _ my son _ , I will be here, regardless of the day,” he spat.

Oh. ‘My father will hear about this’ was a frequent refrain from the younger Malfoy, and apparently a truthful statement. Draco really had complained to his father then about his injury the first day of class.

“I was there, in Care of Magical Creatures. Malfoy, your son that is, he didn’t listen to Professor Hagrid. He  _ insulted _ Buckbeak!” she insisted.

“A creature that prone to violence should never be around children. I will see to it that that beast is put down,” he said, and she had no doubt that he meant it. 

Her immediate thought was for Hagrid, dear sweet Hagrid, who’d never intended for anyone to be hurt.

“No! Sir, you can’t! Professor Hagrid, he told everyone how to approach the animals. We all bowed to them and petted them, and everything was fine. He’s not a vicious creature! He let another student ride him and everything!” she pleaded.

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, little girl,” he sneered. “I neither know nor care what pathetic standards exist for professors in the muggle world, but standards at Hogwarts used to preclude hiring a professor who failed to graduate and cannot wield a wand of his own. One would think a student such as yourself, who so highly values education, would want professors who are actually qualified to teach.”

She opened her mouth to respond but found that she couldn’t, for he was correct in his assessment. As much as she adored Hagrid and valued his friendship, he had not completed his own education. His knowledge of magical creatures was vast, but he tended to make rash decisions regarding animals. Like hatching a dragon egg and keeping a baby dragon in his hut. Norbert - or Norberta, as Charlie Weasley said the dragon was a girl - could have burned down Hagrid’s hut or gotten loose and attacked a student or other animals on the school grounds. 

“Lord Malfoy, Hagrid is a kind and gentle person. He would never deliberately harm anyone, nor would he want anyone to be injured. He’s wonderful with animals,” she said carefully.

“However well-intentioned he may be, that hippogriff is a danger to others, and that half-breed giant has no business teaching anyone,” he said sharply. 

He looked her up and down then. “Draco’s told me all about the way you and your friends - Misters Potter and Weasley - flaunt the rules at this school, yet never seem to be punished for it.”

The way the word ‘punished’ slid from his mouth sent a frisson of fear down her spine. She clutched her books more tightly to her chest and wished that her wand was not tucked safely away in her bag. 

“Go to class, Miss Granger, before I-”

He stopped mid-sentence and paused for a moment, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He glared at her and then stalked away, black robes billowing in a way that reminded her very much of Professor Snape. 

What had he intended to say to her just then? It felt almost like a threat. She was nothing to him, lower than dirt. A filthy mudblood, as his son liked to say. Why rein himself in like that? It was perplexing for sure.

She watched him until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. She found him absurdly attractive for sure, but in that moment, she was a little bit envious of Draco Malfoy. What must it be like to have a father so concerned about you? It was easy for someone of Mr. Malfoy’s apparent wealth to buy the entire Slytherin quidditch team new racing brooms, but it was another to take time from whatever it was he did all day to come to Hogwarts and argue with Professor Dumbledore about Hagrid and Buckbeak. 

Her own parents were rather clueless as to what Hogwarts was really like - and just how dangerous it could be - but in that moment, she thought it might be rather lovely to be raised by someone that adoring and protective. She disagreed with him as to what should be done about the entire situation with Buckbeak, and she had every intention of helping Hagrid craft an argument to the Ministry to spare the hippogriff, but she couldn’t help but agree with some of Mr. Malfoy’s points. 

That unexpected meeting in the hall was the only time he spoke to her during her third year. She considered telling Harry about it, particularly given how Mr. Malfoy went on to argue for Buckbeak’s execution before the Committee on the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, but just as before, she kept the entire conversation to herself. 

She didn’t think she could talk about Mr. Malfoy without blushing, and while Ron might be rather clueless when it came to girls, she thought Harry observant enough to notice that something was not quite right. He would never approve of her attraction to Malfoy’s father, and Hermione couldn’t bear if Harry became angry with her and withdrew his friendship. It was bad enough this year when he didn’t speak to her for days because she had his new broom confiscated by Professor McGonagall to be tested for hexes and curses. To not have Harry in her life at all was simple unthinkable. 

So despite her conflicted emotions surrounding the wizard that year, Hermione kept her thoughts to herself, unaware at the time that she had taken a few more steps down what would become a dark path.

  


  


  


As third year progressed, she continued to see Mr. Malfoy at every match Slytherin played against Gryffindor, always seated with Professor Snape. She’d never been quite sure if he sat there because Snape was his son’s head of house, or if there was some sort of amity between them. Watching them was an exercise in contrasts. Mr. Malfoy was light, his name even meant ‘light,’ with his long pale blonde hair, fair skin, and cool grey eyes, while Professor Snape was dark. Mr. Malfoy was handsome. Professor Snape was… not. Had they been classmates at one point?

She didn’t get any further insight into their relationship until the end of the school year, after she and Harry had used her time turner to rescue both Buckbeak and his godfather Sirius Black from certain death. Harry was still recovering from their ordeal in the hospital wing, but she’d been released, shooed out really, by Madam Pomfrey. After a long, hot shower and a change into a fresh school uniform and set of robes, she’d trudged down the stairs toward the Great Hall. She was early for dinner, and the halls were mostly deserted. 

It was this abnormal quiet in the halls that allowed her to hear it: a banging sound, perhaps like the slamming of a door, and muffled but raised voices. She withdrew her wand and crept forward, intent on investigating. One would think that after her time turning experience rescuing Sirius and evading Professor Lupin in werewolf form, not to mention a swarm of dementors, that she’d be inclined to walk away. It wasn’t in her nature to do so, however, and she supposed that was ultimately why the Sorting Hat had placed her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

She followed the noise and peered around the corner but saw no one. A flash of movement caught her eye, and she stepped forward to peer out the window into the courtyard just in time to see Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy. She watched as Mr. Malfoy angrily waved an arm and gestured toward the castle. Professor Snape looked equally unhappy. What on earth were they discussing? 

She knew she should have gone ahead to the Great Hall, but she couldn’t resist slipping into the courtyard to catch a glimpse of the handsome blond wizard who’d so fully captured her attention. She paused behind a stone pillar and debated her options. She couldn’t hear them well enough from where she was, but the layout of the courtyard made it difficult to move closer without being spotted. She ducked low and crept forward on her hands and knees, careful to stay below the low stone wall that ringed that side of the courtyard until she could more easily eavesdrop on the two wizards.

“A WEREWOLF? A bloody WEREWOLF? He’s gone senile! It’s an OUTRAGE, Severus!” Mr. Malfoy’s voice was loud enough now for her to easily hear. “Someone could have been killed!” 

“Someone nearly  _ was _ killed. Despite his general affection for the Potter brat, Lupin neglected to take the wolfsbane potion to chase after Potter and his obnoxious sidekicks, and he attacked us all.” Professor Snape’s voice was sharp enough to cut glass, and Hermione could tell that he was furious, but holding in his anger.

“He nearly KILLED Potter, and Dumbledore wants to let him stay? What is wrong with that man? My SON is in that castle! Draco-”

“Draco was not in harm’s way. Potter, Weasley, and Granger were the only ones out of the castle, as usual.”

“I don’t care. A werewolf has no business being around children, and this, this _ incident _ is exactly why!” 

“Dumbledore cannot be reasoned with. I have tried. For a bloody year now, I have tried. The old man has his agenda.” 

She wished she could peek over the wall to see Mr. Malfoy, but she didn’t dare incur Professor Snape’s wrath. The risk of getting caught was too great.

“You were right to tell your Slytherins.”

“If he will not listen to me, even after this incident, then perhaps he’ll listen to the combined voices of parents complaining to the Board of Governors.”

Hermione tried to stifle a gasp as she put the pieces together. Snape was trying to get Professor Lupin fired! Professor Lupin had easily been the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor they’d had thus far, and he was a friend of Harry’s parents. She hated the idea of seeing him go. And yet, she could also understand why Mr. Malfoy was so upset. Professor Lupin truly had been dangerous that night.

“I will not stand for this. Trouble yourself no more with this Severus. I shall gather the old families and speak to the board and to the Ministry at once.”

“You are a good friend, Lucius.”

She could not hear what Mr. Malfoy said next, as the two seemed to be walking further away from her. She stayed hidden until she heard a single set of footsteps storm back across the courtyard, followed by the sound of a door slamming. When she finally stood, her knees ached, and she had to brush dust from her robes. She supposed it didn’t surprise her too much to learn that the two wizards were friends, not after seeing them seated together at quidditch matches, but she still thought it an unlikely friendship. 

It galled her to know that Professor Snape had been unable to convince the headmaster to fire Professor Lupin, and so he’d resorted to telling the Slytherins their professor was a werewolf, knowing the pureblood Slytherins would all owl their parents with the news. She had to grudgingly admit that it was a good strategy. Sirius may have escaped capture, but she wasn’t sure that Professor Lupin would be able to escape the wrath of Mr. Malfoy. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as she headed off to find Professor Lupin and warn him.


	4. Fourth Year, Part 1994

### Fourth Year Part 1, 1994

Hermione wasn’t one for sporting events, and she wasn’t a huge fan of quidditch, but the Weasleys had an extra ticket for the Quidditch World Cup, and the festivities along with the match seemed like fun. It was an exciting atmosphere, and she found herself enjoying Ron and Harry’s enthusiasm. Bulgaria’s seeker looked rather dashing in the posters Ron kept pointing out to them, but he wasn’t nearly as handsome as Mr. Malfoy, she thought.

The entire atmosphere was exhilarating, and Hermione was so thankful Mr. Weasley had invited her to come along. Events like this one were out of reach for most muggleborn students, which was terribly unfair when one stopped to consider how much culture and knowledge you could soak up just wandering around the festival booths before the match!

She, Harry, and the Weasleys were halfway up the stadium steps when she spotted the Malfoy family. They were rather formally dressed for a sporting event, but what really surprised Hermione was that Mrs. Malfoy had come along with her husband and son. She’d never once seen the willowy blonde at Hogwarts, not even for Draco’s quidditch games. She guessed the gorgeous witch was not a fan of the sport because she currently had a rather unattractive look of disgust on her face. Mrs. Malfoy’s pinched expression kept her from looking as beautiful as she did in the rare newspaper photo Hermione had seen of her.

She wasn’t at all surprised when Harry and Ron got into an argument with Malfoy or when Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley exchanged words. What _was_ surprising though was that they were all in the same box together at the top of the stadium. The Malfoys were seated with the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge and seemed to be doing their best to ignore the Weasleys. Hermione was thrilled to be able to observe them at close range.

Mrs. Malfoy still did not look pleased to be there. Hermione’s initial impression of the witch was that she lived up to her namesake. The match had not yet started, but Mrs. Malfoy had already withdrawn a compact from her robes to check her already flawless hair and makeup. Was this the sort of witch wizards like Mr. Malfoy wanted? If so, Hermione knew she was woefully inadequate on all fronts. Her front teeth were too big. Her parents insisted that she could have braces when she was older, not seeming to understand just how awful it was to have an obvious physical feature others mocked. Her hair was a wild mess. Hermione had never given much thought to her hair before beyond regular shampooing and brushing, but if this was the standard of beauty she needed to attain, she was going to have start paying attention when Lavender and Parvati talked about hair charms and potions.

She pulled one of her curls straight, twisting the hair round her fingers as she watched the pre-match performance from Ireland’s leprechaun mascots. Draco caught her staring at them and glared at her and mouthed the word “mudblood.” She glared back and wanted to slap him. It was puzzling to her that she could loathe the younger Malfoy so much while finding herself so fascinated by his father.

Bulgaria’s mascots them came onto the pitch, and Hermione was puzzled. Why were their mascots a bunch of almost inhumanly beautiful women? It was then that she realised that most of the males around her seemed to have gone barmy. Even Mr. Malfoy and Draco were leaning over the railing as if they were prepared to leap from the box to reach the silver-haired, pale-skinned beauties.

As she looked around in confusion, she met Mr. Weasley’s face and noted that he alone among the wizards in their box seemed unaffected.

“Veela,” he said, motioning to the women. “The allure attracts the opposite sex. Not unlike sirens.”

“Really?” She was fascinated. Why had she not heard of veela before? “Why doesn’t it affect you?”

He grinned and held up his left hand. She frowned, not understanding what he meant until she noticed the wedding ring.

“A veela’s allure is no match for true love,” he said proudly.

Well that was… incredibly sweet when applied to Arthur and Molly. But for the others...she looked again at the Malfoys with new eyes. Mr. Malfoy was clearly affected by the veela, even though his wife was seated beside him. They weren’t truly in love with each other.

She couldn’t help but wonder what feelings Mr. Malfoy did have for the beautiful witch beside him. If someone that beautiful couldn’t hold his attention, who could? What sort of witch could he truly love?

~oOo~

Hermione’s delight at being at the World Cup soured that night when chaos erupted at the campsite. As she fled for safety with Harry and Ron, caught up in a panicked crowd, she heard the shouts of others, saying that Death Eaters had come to the World Cup, that Death Eaters were torturing the muggles who lived nearby.

The Death Eaters were supposed to gone, all arrested or killed, save for the few who were found not guilty by the Wizengamot. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? A group of young wizards trying to stir up trouble perhaps?

Someone bumped into her from behind, and Hermione fell to the ground, catching herself on her hands and knees. When she looked up again only a second later, she’d lost Harry and Ron in the melee. She was knocked down twice more before struggling to her feet and escaping the flow of the crowd for what she hoped was the safety of the woods.

She crawled through thick underbrush, branches tearing at her hair and catching on her clothes, as she tried to move in the general direction her friends had headed. She finally came to a break in the woods near another edge of the campsite. She thought she was close to the entrance, but it was much darker than she remembered. She was debating the wisdom of casting a _lumos_ to help her see when she stumbled into another person.

She was knocked to the ground again, this time falling backward and landing hard on her bum. The dark-robed figure turned around, wand drawn, and she realised that in her haste to escape the crowd, she’d unwittingly bumped into what could only be a Death Eater. His entire face was obscured by a terrifying silver and black mask that managed to make his face look like an ornate skull with a sinister frown. He was otherwise covered from head to toe in black hooded robes.

In her short life she’d faced down a cerebus, devil’s snare, life-sized destructive wizard’s chess pieces, a basilisk, a boggart, an escaped prisoner, a werewolf, and a host of dementors. The wizard before her was easily one of the most frightening things she’d ever seen, and she was facing him alone.

His wand was pointed at her, she could tell that much even in the dark, but he had not said anything. Her own wand was tucked away in her pocket, and she knew he could kill her before she could even get her wand in hand. He moved toward her slowly until he was standing over her. It was too dark to see his eyes, but she knew he was looking at her.

Oh God. This was it. This was the moment she was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it.

She would never be able to fully understand or explain what happened next. Instead of firing a curse at her, the Death Eater pointed off to the left. She could barely hear his hissed words over the roar of the nearby panicked crowd.

“This is no place for children, little witch. Go. That way.”

He was… he was _letting her go_. A Death Eater was just letting her leave. Had he not realised she was muggleborn? Or had he noticed her young age? She’d always been petite for her age and was frequently mistaken for a younger child.

Her flight instinct kicked in then, and she scrambled to her feet and darted as quickly as she could back into the woods, in the direction he’d gestured. He’d let her go. She wasn’t going to die tonight.

That mask haunted her in her dreams for weeks following the quidditch World Cup. The swirls of silver around the eyes, the shape of the frown. It wasn’t a sight she’d soon forget.

It would be almost two more years before she’d see that mask again. Nearly two long years before she’d learn that the masked Death Eater that day at the edge of the woods was Lucius Malfoy.

 


	5. Fourth Year, Part 2, 1994-1995

Fourth Year, Part 2, 1994-1995

Hermione’s fourth year at Hogwarts was dominated by the Tri-Wizard Tournament and Harry’s unfortunate and mysterious entry as a school champion. Was it not possible for them to have a single school year without the threat of death lingering around them?

A fight with the younger Malfoy resulted in a misfired curse and buck teeth that grew to cover her chin. The only plus to come out of that very public humiliation, which Professor Snape made so much worse by claiming he couldn’t see a difference in her extreme overbite, was that Madam Pomfrey graciously agreed to shrink her teeth to a smaller size than they’d originally been.

For weeks afterward, she couldn’t stop smiling toothy smiles at herself in the mirror. She’d begun to pay more attention to the little things the other witches in her dorm did to enhance their appearance so she could try them out herself, and for the first time in her life, she started to feel a little bit pretty. Her mum was fond of reminding her that the ugly duckling grew into a swan. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be swan-like, but she at least felt more like a GIRL.

To her immense surprise, she’d somehow managed to attract the attention of Durmstrang’s champion and Bulgaria’s seeker, Viktor Krum. He’d approached her in the library with a question about a book. That had turned into study sessions, which turned into conversations, which somehow turned into him asking her to accompany him to the Yule Ball. The whole thing had a very Cinderella sort of quality to it.

She’d hoped that Ron would ask her to the Yule Ball. He was her friend, and they would have fun together, and if she was very honest with herself, she did think he was rather cute in a gangly kind of awkward teen boy sort of way. He didn’t make her heart race when he smiled, and she didn’t blush uncontrollably at the thought of him possibly holding her hand or kissing her cheek, but she liked him. He was safe. Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to see her as a _girl_ , one he could ask to the ball.

So she’d gone with Viktor instead, and she’d silently enjoyed her classmates’ stunned looks of surprise at her appearance. Draco Malfoy had even stared at her with shock, unable to say anything mean to her. She felt like a princess in a muggle movie. She’d gotten into an argument with Ron at the ball, but Viktor had done his best to make her feel better.

The most momentous part of the ball was that when it was over, Viktor had kissed her, a real kiss, one that he obviously wanted because unlike a few other couples she’d seen that night, they weren’t stuck under an enchanted mistletoe.

Her first kiss! She supposed most girls built up the idea of their first kiss in their heads until it couldn’t possibly live up to their lofty expectations, and she really was no better. She wanted passion. She wanted fire. She wanted to burn and melt in a wizard’s embrace, a wizard who adored her and was good for her.

She wanted to fall for someone who wasn’t Lucius Malfoy.

Viktor’s kiss was sweet, almost uncertain. She wasn’t sure where to put her hands. Around his neck? On his shoulders? His chest? When she finally parted her lips for him and allowed his tongue to snake inside her mouth, she felt a little bit panicky. Was she doing this the right way? She’d expected him to take control because he was older, he was famous. Surely he’d had loads of girlfriends already. He was timid with her, like he was afraid he would scare her if he pushed her too hard, and instead of relaxing her, it made her feel uncomfortable. What was _wrong_ with her? She was kissing a handsome wizard after being his date for a magical holiday ball, and she couldn’t turn her brain off even for a second.

He pulled back from their kiss first to gauge her reaction and then grin broadly at her.

“Herm-i-o-ninny, you haff made me a very happy vizard tonight.”

She smiled back and tried not to cringe at the way he still butchered her name even after she’d told him over and over again how to pronounce it.

“I vill valk you back to your dorm?” he offered.

She nodded mutely, unsure of what to say or do next. Did this mean they were a couple now? Did he want that? Did she? It was all very confusing.

~oOo~

 

Hermione learned over the next few months that Viktor did indeed consider her his girlfriend, although he struggled to pronounce that word, just as he still struggled with her name. Harry struggled with his preparation for the next task and with an unrequited crush on Cho Chang.

When the next task came along, Hermione was NOT happy when she learned that she was to be put in stasis at the bottom of bloody Black Lake. Just whose bright idea was this? She could DIE down there! She never agreed to be part of this stupid tournament! She was still arguing with Professor Dumbledore when his spell knocked her unconscious.

The next thing she knew, she was gasping for breath and panicking because she was in the water. She was in very deep, very cold water, and oh god, something was touching her, something had a hold of her.

“Herm-i-o-ninny! It is me! You are alright, no?”

Viktor. It was Viktor holding her up and pulling her toward floating platform.

“So-o-o c-c-co-o-ld,” she stuttered as she relaxed in his grip and stopped fighting his hold on her.

“I vill get you out, get you dry.”

Her soaked robes weighed her down and make it difficult to climb out of the lake. Someone returned her wand to her, and with a shaky hand Hermione cast a drying spell on her clothes, along with a warming charm. She felt unsettled and overwhelmed.

Where was Harry? Where was Ron? She was about to panic when she saw Harry break through the surface of the lake, dragging both Ron and Fleur’s little sister Gabrielle with him. In her relief, she threw her arms around Viktor in a hug. He returned it, patting her wet hair. It hit her then, as she stood there on the platform hugging a cold and wet Viktor, that SHE was the person who meant the most to him. She pulled back from his embrace and kissed him lightly on the lips. She intended to let go of him to assist Harry and Ron, but he hugged her again, and she froze.

Standing behind Viktor, along with Durmstrang Headmaster Igor Karkaroff and Minister Fudge was Lucius Malfoy. And he was looking at her with a most unfathomable expression on his face.

“Ve help your friends, no?” Viktor asked.

She nodded and tried to draw her attention from Mr. Malfoy. She was distracted then by Harry and Ron and by the announcement of the champions’ scores from this task, but as she celebrated with Viktor and her friends, she was certain she felt Mr. Malfoy’s eyes on her. It was incredibly unsettling for reasons she couldn’t quite put into words.

 

~oOo~

 

Of all the ways she thought her fourth year at Hogwarts would end, Harry clutching Cedric Diggory’s body and yelling that Voldemort was back, followed by the reveal that one of their professors was really a Death Eater everyone believed dead did not even make the list. It was disheartening to think that each year was somehow more terrifying and horrific than the last. Her only consolation was that Harry, dear sweet Harry, was safe.

She and Ron sat on either side of Harry’s bed in the hospital wing, relieved that he was alive and well but horrified at the tale he had to tell. Voldemort was truly back, resurrected, and he’d called his inner circle to him. Her heart twisted painfully as Harry described how Voldemort had removed the mask from one of his followers, revealing Draco Malfoy’s father.

“And you told this all to Professor Dumbledore?” Hermione asked when Harry finished his story.

“Yes, but Fudge and the others from the Ministry don’t believe it. They sent the dementors in for Barty Crouch Junior, because they had proof of who he was, proof that he’d captured the real Moody,” Harry said bitterly. “My word and Cedric’s body isn’t enough for them though. They’re convinced it’s some fantastical tale.”

“I knew it!” Ron crowed. “I know Malfoy’s dad was a Death Eater!”

“Fat lot of good it does though since Fudge won’t believe it,” Harry pointed out.

Hermione bristled at Ron’s attitude and then turned her attention back to Harry. “You said Voldemort questioned Mr. Malfoy?”

“Yeah, for not looking for him, for publicly denying him after he disappeared following my parents’ murders,” Harry said.

“Dad says he and a bunch of others claimed they were under the _imperius_ curse, but it’s bollocks of course,” Ron supplied. “Him being there tonight proves it!”

“It doesn’t prove anything of the sort,” Hermione spit out before she could stop herself.

Ron and Harry both gawked at her, and Ron’s face twisted in surprise and then anger.

“Of course it does! It proves he’s an evil git, it proves he was lying all that time all those years ago. He should be in Azkaban with the rest of the lot!” he said.

“All his presence there proves is that he has the dark mark - but that’s public knowledge from his trial all those years ago, isn’t it?” she asked.

“I...I guess?” Ron replied, clearly unsure where she was going with this.

“If Voldemort used the mark to call his followers to him, then it would have called anyone who had the mark.”

Both boys looked at her blankly.

“If someone was under the _imperius_ curse when they were marked, meaning they were marked without their consent, they would have still been summoned to that graveyard, whether they wanted to be there or not,” she lectured.

“You don’t really buy that do you?” Harry asked. “That he was under the _imperius_ curse?”

Of course she bought it. His innocence was something she fervently believed in because to believe otherwise was to admit to herself that she’d fallen for a supremacist, a bigot, a violent terrorist. But that wasn’t Mr. Malfoy. He was cultured, sophisticated, powerful.

“You said yourself that he looked terrified, and that Voldemort singled him out for denying him and being a respectable member of society.”

“So?”

“So the dark mark, it’s forever, right? Once you have it, it doesn’t just go away, does it?” she asked.

Harry nodded. “I think it’s permanent.”

“So what if he was terrified because he had no choice but to be there? A lifetime of servitude as long as Voldemort lives, even if you didn’t want the mark in the first place.”

Ron sputtered indignantly, and Harry looked thoughtful for a moment.

“I guess it all hinges on whether or not you really believe that he was _imperiused_. He definitely didn’t look happy about being there,” Harry admitted.

Ron looked like he wanted to say something, and Hermione had a feeling it wouldn’t be anything good, so she preemptively flung herself at Harry and wrapped him in a hug.

“I’m just so glad you’re okay. I don’t know what I’d do without you, Harry.”

He hugged her back, and for a moment, Hermione set aside all thoughts of Mr. Malfoy and his actions and motives. She curled up beside Harry and smiled when Ron followed her lead and flopped down on the foot of the bed. For the rest of that evening, she did not think about Harry’s unsettling news about the return of Voldemort, about Cedric’s death, or about Mr. Malfoy. For the rest of that evening, they were just normal teenagers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is: Vikmione! I have always wondered what their interactions were really like before Harry figured out they were together, and this was a fun opportunity to play with the awkwardness of young romance. Hermione is growing up, but she’s not been able to shake her growing obsession with Lucius. Up next: 5th year!   
> Thanks for reading. As with all my stories, constructive feedback is always welcome.


	6. Fifth Year, Part 1, 1995-1996

###  Fifth Year, Part 1, 1995-1996

 

The summer before her fifth year at Hogwarts, Hermione spent the bulk of her time at Number 12 Grimmauld Place with Sirius, the Weasleys, and other members of the newly re-created Order of the Phoenix. Sirius’s presence in his family’s ancestral home perplexed her. He had a safe place to stay - safe enough for Harry to stay for part of the summer as it was secret kept - and plenty of food and plenty of Order members coming and going, so why on earth had Dumbledore required that Harry return to his aunt and uncle’s home? 

It wasn’t a secret that Harry’s aunt and uncle were neglectful and did not properly care for him, yet Dumbledore had left Harry there. According to Hagrid, Dumbledore had left Harry on the Dursley’s doorstep in the middle of the night, never to return. In a decade, no one checked on him at all! Fred and George and Ron had rescued Harry from his aunt and uncle’s home in the summer after their first year of school, when Harry was literally locked in his room, and this had apparently been reported to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley as well, but no one did anything about it, and Harry was sent back there time and time again. She knew her best friend had hoped to live with his godfather once Sirius was freed, only to have that opportunity snatched away from him. 

So why was Harry not able to live with Sirius now? 

She’d attempted to ask Harry about this, but he’d shut her down when he realised she was essentially questioning Dumbledore’s decisions. She loved Harry, loved him like the brother she’d always wanted, but she was frustrated by his willful refusal to see the forest for the trees. He clearly saw Dumbledore as a wise and kindly mentor, a grandfather of sorts. 

Hermione was forced to admit to herself that once upon a time, she’d seen Dumbledore the same way. The entire situation with Sirius and with Harry’s living arrangements just did not make sense to her, nor did the revelation that Sirius had been sentenced to Azkaban without benefit of a fair trial. Why hadn’t Dumbledore intervened? It was clear though that Harry did not want to think on these things, so she kept her somewhat traitorous thoughts to herself and tried to focus on the positives of her stay at the Black family home.

It was not the first time she’d been in a wizarding home, as she’d visited the Burrow before, but this was different. This was the home of an ancient and noble family. She found herself disgusted by the troll leg umbrella stand and the house elf heads mounted on the wall, and of course the portrait of Walburga Black permanently stuck to the wall and prone to screaming about filthy mudbloods and blood traitors was also pretty bad. But the rest of the house, while dirty from years of disuse, was amazing. 

She spent days holed up in the small library, surrounded by stacks of books, until even Sirius gave her a hard time about loving books more than anything else in the world. When she finally ventured out of the library, she found Sirius in an adjacent room staring pensively at an enormous tapestry that covered an entire wall.

“You run out of books to read, kid?” he asked, not taking his eyes from the wall.

“Not yet. But Mrs. Weasley said I have to come out and be sociable.”

He snorted.

“What’s this?” she asked, motioning to the wall.

“The illustrious family tree of the most ancient and noble house of Black,” he said derisively. “Note the scorch marks.”

She followed his gaze. Elaborate swirling branches connected family members, and roughly once a generation, at least one person had been blasted from the tree, leaving behind an ugly black mark on what she was sure was a very old and very magical tapestry.

“That’s you?” she asked, pointing to a scorch mark near the bottom.

“Blood traitors have no place on the family tree.” His voice was bitter.

She studied the names left from his generation and was stunned to see Bellatrix Lestrange's name.

“You’re related to Bellatrix Lestrange?”

“Cousins. Not that she’d ever claim me. Or I her.”

“Wow.”

He shrugged. “Look around, you’ll see just about every pureblood family on here. So damn inbred.”

Her eyes traced the family tree and then widened in surprise.

“You’re related to Harry!”

“Yes, technically. Dorea Black married Charlus Potter.”

“Wow.” She didn’t envy Sirius his awful parents or the way they’d cast him out, but she did envy his sense of history. Despite his wrongful imprisonment, he  _ belonged _ in the wizarding world. No one would try to push him out based on his birth. Harry, Ron, they all belonged. Their magical parentage meant they’d never have to claw their way to a secure place in society. What must that be like, she wondered as she studied the Black family tree.

“Malfoy too,” she said in surprise, motioning to where swirling vines joined Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy, with a line extending down for Draco Lucius Malfoy.

“Yes.”

She’d had no idea at all that the object of her affection had married into the Black family. It was like finding a brand new unread book! She tried to conceal her interest to Harry’s godfather.

“Did you attend Hogwarts with them? Bellatrix and Narcissa?” she asked.

“Bellatrix graduated before I started, thank Merlin. She’s always been unstable and not one I would have wanted around me for seven years at Hogwarts. ‘Cissa was a few years ahead of me, Malfoy a year ahead of her, Andromeda ahead of him. Not that I saw them much. We didn’t exactly have a lot in common, and when the hat put me in Gryffindor, we had even less.”

“It’s hard to think of them as students,” she admitted. She’d seen photos of Lucius in old yearbooks found in the school library, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he’d been like.

He snorted again. “Even Death Eaters have to start somewhere, I guess.”

“Were they… cruel? Even then?”

“Bellatrix, yes. Sadistic, even when we were all kids. Andy - Andromeda, the middle child - was ambitious but not cruel. She’s the scorch mark there. Cast out for the grievous sin of marrying a muggleborn. Her daughter’s an Auror. Narcissa lived up to her namesake. She was always the perfect, proper, pureblood girl, more concerned with her appearance and marrying well than anything else.”

“And Mr. Malfoy? Was he as big of a prat as his son is now?” she asked.

Sirius laughed. “Harry’s complained about him quite a bit in the last year. As for his father? Snobbish. Spoiled. Walked around like he owned the place.”

Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at the mental picture.

“In other worse, probably just like his son, from what Harry says,” Sirius said with a smirk.

They were interrupted then by Mrs. Weasley before Hermione could respond.

“What are you two doing wasting time in here? We’ve got cleaning to do! Harry’ll be here soon!” she scolded before turning on her heel.

Hermione heaved a sigh and followed her out of the room. Behind her, she heard Sirius mutter under his breath, “Damned woman - it’s MY house.”

 

~oOo~

  
She enjoyed her stay at Grimmauld Place, even though Mrs. Weasley cracked the proverbial whip over Hermione, Harry, and her own children, making them clean the house from top to bottom. It was tense at times, with frequent disputes between Sirius and Mrs. Weasley. George and Fred shared some of their newly designed extendable ears, and Hermione and her friends were able to listen in on some of the meetings of the Order of the Phoenix. 

Personally, she was of the opinion that at a bare minimum, Harry belonged in those meetings. He’d been the one to somehow defeat Voldemort all those years ago, and he’d been present when Voldemort regained his body. Clearly the evil wizard had decided Harry was of some sort of importance, and keeping Harry from the Order meetings struck Hermione as both unfair and absurd. Had he not proved his worth to the light already?

She knew Harry was sad about leaving Sirius to return to school, but to Hermione it was a relief to board the train and escape from hushed talk of war and the bickering between Sirius and Molly.

Their fifth year at Hogwarts was remarkable in its simplicity. No international tournament. No dementors circling the school. No magical beast slithering through the castle trying to kill muggleborns. Not that Dolores Umbridge was much better than a basilisk or a dementor. She was awful, and she seemed to go out of her way to make everyone save for her Inquisitorial Squad miserable. 

Hermione had always prided herself on being the good girl, on following the rules (with a few notable exceptions). Fifth year changed that for her though. When faced with vast injustice at the hands of those in power, sometimes resistance is the only option. Breaking the rules became less a source of anxiety for her and more a source of secret delight, of burgeoning power of her own. Taking her education and her fate into her own hands through the creation of Dumbledore’s Army was exhilarating. 

When she looked back on her life, Hermione knew that her fifth year had blurred her very black and white world into an infinite number of shades of gray, just as she knew that the night they made the frantic journey to the Department of Mysteries to ‘save’ Sirius Black was the major turning point in her life. Up until that one night, she could have turned back, she could have stayed firmly in the light. She’d not ventured so far down a dark path that she couldn’t turn back. Until that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a bit of a short chapter, but the next one is a lot longer. I will be traveling for work most of next week, so I’m not sure if I’ll be able to update much. I plan to post two more chapters before then though, so be sure to check back soon. Thank you, as always, for your thoughts and commentary about the story. I love hearing what you think is next for Hermione!


	7. Fifth Year, Part 2, 1996

###  Fifth Year, Part 2, 1996

Harry might not have known why she marched Dolores Umbridge into the middle of the Forbidden Forest that night, but Hermione had known exactly what she was doing. The centaurs’ hatred of humans was legendary, as were the punishments they were known to mete out against those who had wronged them.  _ Of course  _ she’d known that Umbridge would thoroughly insult the centaurs, and she’d counted on Bane and his brethren taking their revenge on the pink toad, giving her and Harry an with an opportunity to escape.

Hermione wasn’t sure if anyone would ever see Umbridge alive again, and that was perfectly fine with her. Just a year ago, such dark thoughts and actions would have been unfathomable to Hermione, but Machiavelli was right: sometimes the ends really did justify the means. It was hard to feel sorry for someone who’d deliberately tortured school children.

Sirius had told Harry once - and Harry had thusly passed it on to her - that  _ we’ve all got light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That’s who we really are _ . After hearing that, Hermione had recognised the dark parts in herself: setting Professor Snape’s robes on fire during first year because she mistakenly thought he’d jinxed Harry’s broom, stealing potions ingredients to brew polyjuice in the girls’ bathroom in second year so Harry and Ron could break into the Slytherin dorms, capturing Rita Skeeter in her animagus form and holding her captive in a jar until the reporter caved to her blackmail scheme, creating Dumbledore’s Army and the cursed parchment she made everyone sign, leading to the horrific pustules now spelling out the word ‘sneak’ across Marietta Edgecombe’s face. 

She’d done all those things and felt no remorse. Everything she’d done thus far though, including that day’s foray into the Forbidden Forest, she could justify as necessary to protect Harry, to protect herself, or to fight a valiant fight against evil people. That would change tonight, although she didn’t know it at the time.

She’d tried to talk Harry out of going to the Ministry to rescue Sirius, tried to convince him it was a trap, but as usual he refused to listen to logic and reason. She went along because he was her best friend, and she couldn’t let him run off half-cocked and get himself killed. Had she had more time, more notice, she probably could have come up with a better strategy.

She was terrified but not surprised when Death Eaters showed up. 

When Lucius Malfoy removed his mask and revealed himself, Hermione’s heart caught in her throat. That mask! She knew that mask! It had haunted her since that night at the Quidditch World Cup.  _ This _ was the Death Eater who had inexplicably let her go that night. It has been Lucius Malfoy all along! 

Tonight though, he did not look benevolent. She’d never dreamed that he could appear so threatening, so menacing. For the first time in her short life, she was well and truly afraid of him. 

“Hand over the prophecy, and no one need get hurt,” he said calmly, extending a hand toward Harry.

Had it been anyone else, any other Death Eater, Hermione would not have believed those words. But it was Mr. Malfoy! She knew he’d been under the  _ imperius  _ curse in the beginning, she knew he had no choice but to follow Voldemort’s orders if he wanted to survive. Killing a bunch of students would send him to Azkaban for sure. The witch beside him - Bellatrix Lestrange - seemed very unstable, but Mr. Malfoy, obviously in the lead here, was calm and in control and just wanted the little glass ball in Harry’s hand. She wished the Death Eaters were far enough away that she could whisper to Harry to just give them the prophecy. Whatever was in that swirling mist in the jar was not worth their lives.

Even as she stood frozen in fear, Hermione’s admiration for the blond wizard grew as she watched him try to calm Bellatrix, who it seemed was prepared to do anything to get that prophecy. Harry wasn’t helping the situation by taunting the deranged woman about Voldemort being a half-blood. 

Hermione tugged at the back of Harry’s robes and urgently whispered to him. “Don’t argue with her, she’s ready to kill us all!”

Harry took a small step back, stepping on her toes, and then and whispered to fire on the shelves laden with prophecies as a distraction that would hopefully allow them to escape. Destruction on the scale Harry was calling for seemed like a very bad idea that would escalate the situation further and get them into a heap of trouble with the Ministry, but Hermione knew that there was no way Harry would willingly hand over something Voldemort wanted. He’d also never trust that Lucius would let them escape. 

A  _ reducto _ cast at all of those prophecies would also likely shower both them and the Death Eaters with glass as they tried to escape, but in the heat of the moment, she couldn’t come up with a better plan that she thought Harry would actually agree to, so she passed the message along as she listened to Mr. Malfoy discuss the prophecy with Harry. 

Six  _ reductos _ cast at once created a spectacular explosion of glass that then triggered other glass orbs to break as well, setting off a chain reaction. Once the glass was broken, all of the destroyed prophecies swirled into a blinding mist and a chaotic cacophony of spectral voices. Hermione stayed close to Harry as they fled the Hall of Prophecies amidst a downpour of glass and dangerously wobbling shelves, Death Eaters on their heels, and curses flying. 

By the time they got out of the Hall of Prophecies and sought refuge in an antechamber behind a sealed door, they’d lost Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Ron. Harry’s strategy to blow up the prophecies had escalated a tense standoff into an all out battle, and Hermione desperately wondered if there was a way to salvage this situation before someone ended up dead.

“They’ve split up.”

Hermione grabbed Harry’s sleeve, and they paused in the dark to listen to Lucius Malfoy on the other side of the door.

“I do not want a body count. Potter is to be handled gently. Getting the prophecy is our only objective.”

Hermione and Harry looked at each other in surprise at Mr. Malfoy’s insistence that he not be harmed.

“And the others?” She didn’t recognize the voice of the other Death Eater.

“We are not here to murder school children, Dolohov. Anyone injured will be left behind. The Dark Lord cares more about the prophecy. We take it from Potter, and we get out before the Aurors come.” 

“Scared of the Aurors? Afraid to go to Azkaban? No sacrifice is too great for the Dark Lord!” Bellatrix sounded unhinged. 

“Shut up Bell and listen to Malfoy,” someone else said. “Do you want to get tortured for failure? Because I sure don’t.” 

Lucius must have ignored the both of them because he went on to divide up their team to search the area. Hermione knew Voldemort was cruel, and it wasn’t surprising that He tortured His followers if they failed him, but the idea that Lucius Malfoy,  _ her _ Lucius, who she knew hadn’t wanted to be there in the first place, would be tortured all for a stupid glass jar full of mist was just too much for Hermione to bear. His actions the night of the Quidditch World Cup were proof enough to her that he was not a bad person. If he’d wanted to harm her - a mere muggleborn alone in the woods - he would have done so then.

If Lucius was adamant about just getting the prophecy and leaving without anyone being killed, then that was their way out, Hermione decided. If she acted quickly, she could save her friends and the dark wizard she adored.  

“Harry, give me the prophecy!” she whispered urgently. 

Harry looked at her with wide eyes.

“What?!”

“They think you have it. You’re their target. Let me take it. They’ll never suspect that someone else has it!” 

Harry clutched the prophecy, and she could see the uncertainty on his face. 

“I don’t want to make you a target. You’re muggleborn. They’re...they’re  _ Death Eaters _ ,” he said.

“You heard Mr. Malfoy. They just want the prophecy. They aren’t here to murder people.”

When Harry still hesitated, Hermione steeled herself and went for the guilt trip. “I was right about Sirius, about this being a trap. I’m right about this too. Let me do this.”

After a brief hesitation, Harry pressed the prophecy into her hand. “You’re right. Let’s find the others and get out of here. Whatever this is must be very important for them to go to all this trouble.”

She put a protective charm around the orb to keep it from breaking before slipping it into her robes. The prophecy felt heavy in her pocket, the enormity of what she planned to do weighing heavily on her. If she gave the prophecy to Lucius Malfoy, they could leave unharmed, and she would protect Lucius from torture or even worse at the hands of his evil master. It was the right thing to do, she told herself.

“We need to find Ron and the others,” he said.

“You find the others. They may have injuries and need help. We’ll meet back at the lobby,” she said. “Whoever gets there first sends word for help. Got it?”

“I won’t leave you.”

“I’ll be fine. If anything, you’ll draw them away from me. Go!” she hissed. 

Hermione made her way alone through the maze of halls, hidden under a disillusionment charm, looking for Mr. Malfoy. Her heart pounded frantically in her chest. If she did this, there was no turning back. She was lying to Harry and maybe even helping Voldemort’s cause, a cause she loathed with every fibre of her being. There was still time to turn around, to head back toward the lifts and to safety. Even if she tried to help Mr. Malfoy, he might not be alone. Even if he was, he might attack her on sight before she could get the prophecy to him.

She remembered then how the spiders had looked as Professor Moody - or rather Barty Crouch Jr. pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody - used the  _ cruciatus _ curse on them. The thought of Voldemort doing that to Lucius was so utterly horrid she dared not dwell on it. She would succeed, no matter what.

At last she found him, alone in a darkened room, methodically and quietly searching for her friends. She used a nonverbal spell to close the door behind her, causing Lucius to spin around.

“Who’s there?” he hissed. 

He cast  _ hominem revelio _ , and before Hermione could get out a single world, he had burned through her disillusionment charm and grabbed her, shoving her hard against the door, his gloved hand around her throat.

“Where is Potter?” he demanded. 

There was enough pressure on her airway that Hermione reached up with both hands to claw at his arm. Her fingernails were worthless against the dragonhide armor of his Death Eater robes. He let go of her throat then to grab both of her wrists and slam them into the door, pinning them above her head. She squirmed in his grasp, uncomfortable with his tight grip and the way he’d slammed her into the door, banging her head against the wood in the process. He was so close to her though, so close to her, and  _ touching her _ , and it sent a rush of adrenaline through her that she’d never experienced before. 

“Where is he?”  

“I have it,” she gasped. 

She dared to raise her eyes to his, and in his cold grey eyes she saw determination and just a hint of confusion. 

“The prophecy - he gave it to me. I have it. Take it.”

He moved back from her but didn’t release her wrists.

“Take it? What have you done to it?” he asked, twisting her right wrist painfully.

“Nothing! Nothing, I swear!” she gasped. 

“I find that hard to believe Miss Granger. Why would you willingly hand over what Potter was willing to destroy hundreds of other prophecies to protect?” 

He’d stopped twisting her wrist, but he brought his other hand back to her neck and shoved a knee between her legs, pinning her still and making her heart race and breath come in pants. Oh God, no boy, no man had ever pinned her like this, and despite her fear, she was embarrassed to admit to herself that she was a tiny bit aroused by it. Had she not been so terrified, she would have enjoyed his closeness. Did Mr. Malfoy - Lucius, she really ought to think of him as Lucius - have any idea what sort of confusing feelings he stirred in her? 

“Tell me. I am losing my patience Miss Granger.”

“You said no one would get hurt,” she gasped. “You said… you just wanted the prophecy. Harry doesn’t listen. I told him it was a trap. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

He looked stunned at this pronouncement. 

“You trust the word of a Death Eater?”

“You were  _ imperious’d _ . In the first war. I read it. And now you’re trapped because He’s back, and no one marked can refuse Him, and He tortures and kills those who fail him,” she pushed out in a breathless voice. “I know you don’t want to be here.”

He stared at her, a mix of confusion and shock on his face, so she kept speaking.

“I know you’re...you’re not a bad person. You could have hurt me at the Quidditch World Cup. I was all alone in the woods, but you let me go. I know it was you - your mask. You were wearing the same mask that night,” she stammered.

A flash of recognition crossed his face then.

“You?”

She tried to nod, to give him a sign that she was the girl in the woods he’d directed to safety.

He continued to stare at her, as if he was unsure what to do with her. She could see the indecision on his face as his eyes met hers, and then at last he seemed to refocus on the present and on her offer.

“So you’re giving the prophecy to me? Trying to save my soul? What will Potter say when you learns of your treachery?”

He smirked at the guilty expression on her face. “You don’t plan to tell him then. Pity about your dirty blood - you’d have made a fine Slytherin. Cunning, self-preservation. I’m impressed. Tell me, how did you plan to get past Dumbledore? Or did you not know he’s a legilimens?”

She stared at him in horror. In her desperation to protect both Harry and Lucius, it hadn’t occurred to her that she’d need to answer to their headmaster and head of the Order of the Phoenix. Dumbledore was a legilimens? How had she not known that?

“Where is the prophecy?” he asked.

“In my robe pocket. Right side. If you’ll let go of me, I’ll give it to you.”

“And have him pick your prodigious brain and see how you’ve betrayed his precious Order?”

She stared up at him, and he laughed lightly at her look of surprise.

“Yes, I know all about it, and that it’s been reborn like the phoenix it’s named for,” he said. His lips twisted then in a mockery of a smile.

“No, let’s create a more compelling memory for him to see, shall we?”

Before Hermione could respond, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat, making her gasp for breath and struggle against his hold.

“Where is the prophecy? Tell me now, or I will squeeze every last breath from your filthy body,” he hissed.

Her eyes widened in fear at the menacing look on his face. 

“Can’t breathe!” she gasped, horrified at the turn in conversation.

“The prophecy?”

Her throat ached, her lungs burned, and she was beginning to feel dizzy from lack of oxygen. Black spots flashed at the edges of her vision.

“My robe pocket. Right side! Protected with a cushioning charm,” she sputtered. He was surely going to crush her trachea if he didn’t stop.

He released her at once, and she leaned forward, bracing her hands on her knees and frantically gasping for breath. She never saw the blow coming. Pain exploded across the side of her face as he backhanded her and sent her sprawling onto the ground.

“Stop! Please!” she cried in fear and confusion. “You can have it!”

He was on top of her at once, and she cried out in panic and tried to push him away. She felt his hand inside her robe, and in seconds he stood, prophecy in hand. Hermione pushed herself into a sitting position and wiped at her eyes, embarrassed at crying in front of him and horrified at the violent turn this encounter had taken. She wanted to palm her wand and hex him, but she was too stunned by what he’d just done to retaliate or even protect herself.

Lucius extended a hand to her, and she stared at him in shock. 

“When you speak to Albus Dumbledore, think about what I just did,” he said as he jerked her up from the floor.

“What?” 

He grasped her chin gently and turned her face to the side. “Yes, you’ll bruise nicely.”

“You… you,” she stammered, unable to put words to what he’d just done to her. 

“I gave you a believable memory for that doddering old fool. Focus on that memory and how you felt during it, and you’ll be fine.” 

She nodded mutely, cringing at a crash that sounded very close by. 

“Go. I’ll hold them back while you leave,” he said as he tucked the prophecy into his own robes. “Do me a favor and wait a few minutes before you call for the Aurors, hmm?”

She picked up her wand and gave him a brief nod and one last look before leaving. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is. Hermione's turning point. Was it what you expected? I'd love to hear your thoughts!


	8. Fifth Year, Part 3, 1996

###  Fifth Year, Part 3, 1996

 

They made it safely out of the Ministry that night with only minor injuries. Lucius had kept his word, withdrawing his fellow Death Eaters once he had the prophecy in hand. Sirius, Tonks, Kingsley, and other members of the Order of the Phoenix met Hermione and her friends in the lobby, but by the time they arrived, the only sign of the Death Eaters was the morsmordre mark floating eerily in the sky.

“Harry!” Hermione was so utterly relieved to see her best friend alive and well in the Ministry lobby that she flung herself into his arms. He hugged her back tightly before pulling back to look at her.

“Hermione, what happened? Who did this to you?” he demanded, fingertips brushing gently over the swelling on her face, making her wince slightly at the painful touch. 

She’d not had time to prepare what she would say to him, how she would explain that for the first time ever, she’d let him down. She’d let Harry down. Harry, who had no one. Harry who was practically alone in the world, with the crushing weight of ‘the boy who lived’ resting on his shoulders. Harry who’d witnessed death and destruction and could still smile and enjoy life. She’d let him down. 

Hermione looked into his bright green eyes - Lily’s eyes, that’s what everyone said - and promptly burst into tears. She was a terrible person. A terrible, horrible person, and if there was a hell, she was going to it. 

Harry, misinterpreting her emotional outburst, immediately pulled her back into a hug and attempted to soothe her. They were interrupted by a frantic Sirius, who rushed to Harry and threw his arms around him and Hermione both. 

“Kid, don’t do that to me! What were you thinking, running off like that?”

“I saw you - in the Department of Mysteries. You were there, and you were hurt, and I couldn’t just let you die, Sirius!” Harry insisted.

The older man’s face softened. “Next time call me through the mirror before you run off half-cocked, okay? I’d never forgive myself if something bad happened to you on my watch.”

“Sirius, you can’t be here!” Hermione gasped, realising that Aurors would soon be swarming the building. 

Sirius looked down at Hermione then.

“Who did this to you?” he asked in a low voice, one that sounded almost as furious as Harry’s.

Hermione wiped her eyes, wincing again as her hand touched her bruised cheek. “It’s nothing.”

Harry looked at her incredulously. Sirius let go of Harry then and placed his hand gently on Hermione’s neck, aligning his fingers and thumb with the purpling marks, proving to himself and Harry just what had caused the bruising on her neck. 

“Who did this to you?” he repeated.

“A...a Death Eater,” she stammered. She should have told Lucius to put his mask back on before attacking her. She couldn’t very well claim she’d never seen the man’s face if Dumbledore was able to look at her memories and see his face clear as day.

“Did you see his face? Who was it?” Harry pressed, an expression of horror on his face at the realisation that someone had choked his best friend.

“Lucius Malfoy,” she admitted in a whisper. 

“I’ll kill him.” 

The words flew from Harry’s mouth without a second thought, and she felt the crackle of his magic, the fury he felt.

“No, Harry, I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. What did he do to you?”

“He...I got lost down there, in that maze of rooms and halls, and he found me, and he attacked me. Harry, I’m so sorry! I… I couldn’t breathe, and I...he hit me, and he… he took the prophecy Harry!” she cried, hating herself for every moment her best friend stood there feeling awful for her.

Harry swallowed hard and ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair. “Look, you always did say that you thought divination was a bunch of rot. It’ll be okay. You’re in one piece, and Sirius is okay, and no one died today,” he said. “Let’s focus on that, and then, well, maybe there’s some other way we can find out what was so important about that prophecy that Voldemort wanted it so badly.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes again. 

“Sirius!” Kingsley Shacklebolt called to them. “The Aurors will be here any minute. You need to leave.”

They turned to see their fellow Order member approach. 

“Kings, you need to arrest Lucius Malfoy.”

“Yes, Ron said he was here tonight, along with Bellatrix Lestrange. Did you get the names or faces of anyone else?”

“Dolohov, “ Hermione said. “That was the only other name I heard, but there were at least six of them here.”

“Malfoy did this to her, Kings,” Harry said, gesturing to Hermione’s bruised and swollen face and neck. 

“Let’s get you back to the school and to Madam Pomfrey,” Shacklebolt said gently. “Were you hit with a curse?”

She shook her head as Harry spoke up again. “He HIT her. He tried to choke her to death, Kings. He can’t get away with this. He should be arrested. Hermione can press charges for what he did!” 

Oh God. No, no, no! That wasn’t what she wanted! She didn’t come this far to protect Lucius from Voldemort’s wrath only to have him end up in Azkaban! 

“Harry, there’s no point,” she said softly.

“No… no  _ point _ ? Pardon my language but what the fuck is wrong with you?” he spat.

“Look, I want him to pay for this as much as you do, but it’s Malfoy, Harry. We both know that by the time I give a statement to an Auror and someone goes looking for him, he’ll be safely at home with an airtight alibi,” she pointed out.

Kingsley looked at them both with sympathy. “She’s right, Harry. The Aurors will investigate the break in and what I’m told is a lot of damage in the Department of Mysteries, but I have no doubt that Malfoy will have a solid alibi for tonight. 

“So he just gets away with this?” Harry exploded.

“No, he doesn’t. He gets put under surveillance, and we do what we can to track his movements and build a case,” Kingsley replied. “And Sirius, you really do need to leave. I can’t help you if you get arrested again because you’re caught here tonight.”

Sirius and Harry said their goodbyes, and Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and took a steadying breath. She’d done it. She’d kept everyone safe tonight. Eventually she’d have to face Dumbledore whenever he returned to the school or at some point over the summer at Grimmauld Place, but she was done for tonight. 

~oOo~

 

In the days following the incident in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione scoured the newspaper for stories about the break in. Not a single one mentioned Lucius Malfoy. Harry, Ron, and the others were outraged by this, but Hermione had to admit that she was impressed at how deftly he’d managed to keep his name from being tainted by the whole affair. 

She’d not heard from him since then, but then, she hadn’t expected to either. She hoped her actions had been enough to keep him from being tortured or killed by Voldemort. She wasn’t sure about the tortured part, but the younger Malfoy was still his normal, spoiled, obnoxious self, so that surely meant Lucius was alive and well. 

She was furious to later find out from Harry that Dumbledore had known the contents of the prophecy for years and only chose to disclose it to him because Harry now knew the prophecy existed. She was still reasonably convinced that divination was rubbish, but she knew the prophecy weighed heavily on Harry, the idea that he’d have to be the one to kill Voldemort. It wouldn’t be enough to just defeat him in a duel as Dumbledore had done with Grindelwald.

Her own conversation with Dumbledore regarding the battle had been stressful. She was incredibly thankful to Lucius for constructing a vivid and violent memory for her to call upon when meeting with the headmaster. She felt a slight twinge in her head during their conversation, as she gave her version of the events to him. Had she not been told he was a legilimens, she might not have even noticed the intrusion into her thoughts. She focused solely on Harry’s emotions leading up to the battle, the destruction in the hall of prophecies, the violent attack from Lucius and her tearful conversation with Harry and Sirius afterward. 

Dumbledore’s eyes did not twinkle at her when he spoke, which had her on edge, but he thanked her for her time and dismissed her. When she escaped his office, she ducked into the girls’ bathroom to splash cold water on her face and try to relax from the strain of their conversation. She felt nauseated at the intrusion into her thoughts. Her mind was sacred to her. It was what set her apart from others, what allowed her to scratch and claw her way to top marks at Hogwarts and what would hopefully propel her into a respectable and successful career, provided the light triumphed in the coming war. 

He’d invaded her mind, without her consent. It was unforgivable. How many times had he done that before? To her? To Harry? To others? It was mental rape, and she never would have known he was doing it had Lucius not warned her. Dumbledore didn’t know it, but that was the day he lost Hermione Granger as an ally. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Hermione's actions in the Department of Mysteries, while morally questionable, have saved Sirius's life. She doesn't know that, of course, but she believes she's done the right thing. And what does Lucius think about her actions? We'll get more of him - and of him interacting with Hermione - soon! 
> 
> This is the last chapter I'm able to post until the weekend, as I'm traveling for work the rest of the week. I hope you enjoy it!


	9. Fifth Year, Part 4, 1996

### Fifth Year, Part 4, 1996

In the final weeks of their school term, Hermione wrestled with guilt over what she’d done. Had she not given the prophecy to Lucius, would someone have been killed that night? Would she or one of her friends been seriously injured? Would the Aurors have arrived in time to arrest some of the Death Eaters? Arrest Lucius? Maybe it really was for the best that she’d brought a peaceful end to a bad situation. Dumbledore already knew the contents of the prophecy, so the light hadn’t even lost crucial information.

And what of Lucius? Had her sacrifice of the prophecy spared him from torture? Perhaps she’d be able to catch a glimpse of him when the train returned to King’s Cross Station. He was usually there to greet his son.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to wait that long. The school term was wrapping up when the letter came to Hermione via eagle owl.

_Saturday. Shrieking Shack. 4 pm. Be there. -LM_

The words were written in an elegant script on stark white parchment. As soon as she read the note and committed the message to memory, the words disappeared, leaving behind just the blank slip of parchment. What a wonderful spell! It was incredibly useful for sending secret messages. She would have to ask him about it.

Lucius had written to her! He wanted to see her! She was nearly overwhelmed at the torrent of emotion his letter caused. Saturday was the final Hogsmeade weekend, with the students departing early the next week. She’d planned to go, mainly to pick up a few books at Tomes & Scrolls to keep her occupied over the summer, and grab one last butterbeer before returning to the muggle world, but it would be tough to escape Harry and Ron. Harry felt exceedingly guilty that Hermione, Ron, and Neville had all been injured in some way during their foray into the Ministry.

She managed to ditch the boys by excitedly sharing her plans to spend the entire afternoon in the bookstore while they looked at quidditch gear and bought candy. As soon as they disappeared from view, she cast a disillusionment charm on herself and took off for the Shrieking Shack. She had to slow to a walk as she approached the old building, lest she be short of breath upon arrival.

“Hello?” she called out softly as she stepped through the front door and made her way into the rundown house.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned on the spot to see Lucius across the room, dressed in elegant wizard’s robes, snake-head cane in hand.

“So you came. I was unsure whether you would be able to escape the Boy Who Lived,” he drawled.

“You wrote me. Of course I came,” she said a little breathlessly.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I’m pleased to know then that you come when called. Such a good girl, aren’t you _pet_?”

His tone was mocking, and she bristled at the implication that she came when called, just like a dog.

“Don’t call me that.”

He walked toward her, and Hermione instinctively took a step back. And then another.

“But you fetch so nicely,” he drawled, his voice like silk. “The Dark Lord was most… _pleased_ to recover the prophecy.”

She swallowed hard. “Did He...you weren’t tortured then?” she asked.

“Tortured? Did you worry about me?” he asked, seemingly amused by her concern.

“I’ve read about what He did in the war, the things He did, even to His own followers. And I heard things that night, in the Ministry. Someone said that He tortured those who failed Him.”

He studied her for a moment, seemingly ignoring her comment. The silence stretched on, and Hermione anxiously twisted the hem of her sleeve with her fingers, uncomfortable at his lack of response.

“Do I make you nervous, Miss Granger?” he finally asked.

“No. No! Of course not. I just… I’m not used to being…alone. You know. _Alone_. With a…”

“A Death Eater?” he supplied.

“A man. Wizard,” she finished, blushing at the admission.

He leaned back from her then and looked her up and down.

“How old are you, Miss Granger?”

“Sixteen. I’ll be 17 in September.”

“Hmmm…almost a year older than Draco then. And yet afraid to be alone with me. How very unlike a Gryffindor.” His lips twisted in a smirk that was almost, _almost_ a smile.

“The last time I was alone with you, you hit me,” she pointed out.

“Mmm, yes I did, but all for a good cause. You can relax though. I don’t intend to harm you.”

His insistence that he wouldn’t hurt her and that hint of a smile on his face went a long way toward lessening her anxiety.

“Tell me, did Dumbledore peek into that enormous brain of yours?” he asked in a casual voice. He’d propped his cane against a dust-coated table so he could leisurely remove his gloves, one finger at a time.

“Yes. He did. I hadn’t…I’d never noticed it before. I wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t warned me,” she admitted.

“And how did that make you feel, knowing that someone _invaded_ your mind without your consent?”

“Awful. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t be allowed just dive into someone’s mind like that! I can’t stop thinking about it, about how many times he’s spoken to me, especially about Harry, about something Harry did or said, and I wonder how many times he violated my mind.” Her anger and her vehemence increased as she spoke.

“Are you familiar with occulemency, my dear girl?” he asked.

“It’s…it’s a process in which you close off your mind and block a legilimens from seeing your thoughts,” she recited, secretly thrilled that he’d called her ‘dear.’

“Very good.” He withdrew a book from a pocket in his robes and presented it to her.

She took it from him and tore her eyes from his to look at the title.

“Occulemency: Protecting the Mind,” she read aloud. She looked up at him, a question clear on her face.

“Read it. It’s not the same thing as training with a proper legilimens, but it should get you off to a good start,” he said. “I will expect you to have made more than sufficient progress by the time you return for your sixth year at Hogwarts.”

Wait – was he saying he planned to see her again? Hermione’s heart raced at the thought.

“Yes sir. I’ll take good care of the book,” she promised.

“I’m sure you will, but it’s not a loan. Keep it.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

She grinned at him. “Thank you!”

He waved his hand dismissively. “It’s the bare minimum of what anyone should have if they’re to spend much time around Albus Dumbledore.”

“Are you… are you a legilimens then?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t overstepping boundaries. She was suddenly mortified at the idea that he could see inside her head, see how absurdly attractive she found him.

“I have some experience with legilimency, but were I to enter your mind, you would surely know it. It’s very difficult to do without being detected and can be rather painful,” he admitted. “Given the rumours of your intelligence, I assume it should not be terribly difficult for you to learn to shield your thoughts.”

“This is an incredible gift. Thank you,” she said again as she tucked the book into her own pocket. She was eager to thumb through it and learn whatever he wanted her to learn, but she didn’t want to cut short this incredibly thrilling private encounter with him.

“I will require that you obtain greater than basic proficiency as an occulemens if I’m to have any contact with you. The only reason I chanced even this meeting is because you’ve just met with Dumbledore, and you’re departing soon for London,” he admitted.

Hermione took that in, realising that he’d wanted to see her before the end of the school term when she returned to the muggle world but after Dumbledore had met with her, in the hopes that he wouldn’t find need to look into her mind again before she left.

“I will learn! I promise. You want to have contact with me again?”  She tried not to get her hopes up. He was brilliant and beautiful and powerful and married, and really, why on earth would he want anything to do with her, Hermione Granger, plain muggleborn teenager?

He tilted his head at her, as if studying her for a moment.

“I find myself most intrigued by you,” he admitted. “Your academic reputation precedes you, of course, and it’s well known that you are Harry Potter’s best friend. But what interests me most about you is what’s underneath.”

“Underneath?” Her voice squeaked just a little bit as he leaned in closer to her.

“You knew the Dark Lord wanted that prophecy. You connived to take it from your dear friend, Harry Potter, and give it to a Death Eater, knowing it would fall into the hands of one of the greatest dark wizards of all time. You didn’t get caught. You were summoned to an abandoned shack by a member of the Dark Lord’s inner circle, and you didn’t hesitate. You came. I want to know why. What darkness lies beneath your surface?”

“I’m not dark,” she said automatically.

“No? Your actions say otherwise. How is Dolores Umbridge, by the way?” he asked casually.

She swallowed hard. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh Draco’s told me all about your little jaunt into the Forbidden Forest, how you claimed you’d take her to Dumbledore’s ‘secret weapon.’ Rumour has it that she was in quite a state when she emerged from the forest. Barely survived.”

“Really? I hadn’t heard,” she said quickly. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow of her own, daring him to challenge her. To her surprise he laughed lightly.

“Rather cunning of you. I can appreciate your creativity - and your cruelty. Horrid bitch had it coming, no doubt.”

She gaped at his crass remark.

“Don’t look so surprised. I’m pleased that she’s made Dumbledore’s life miserable this year, but she’s hardly effective. From what I hear, you’ve run some sort of underground illegal resistance movement with Potter. If that’s true – and I don’t doubt that it is - it proves that woman has even less control of the students than Dumbledore, and it makes me all the more curious as to why you were so willing to betray your dear friends for me.”

She stared up at him, feeling very much put on the spot and unsure how to respond. Should she confess her feelings for him? Admit that she found him unbelievably attractive and wanted desperately for him to respect her, to value her? Would he laugh at her? Curse her?

“It wasn’t a ‘you versus them’ situation,” she finally said. “I heard you, that night. You said you didn’t want a body count.You wanted to get the prophecy and get out. Giving it to you was an expedient solution for us to leave without anyone dying, and it made a lot more sense than Harry’s method of blasting his way out.”

“Yes, Bellatrix was most disappointed she wasn’t able to torture anyone.”

Hermione shivered.

“You were wise to seek me out. No one else in that group would have listened to you,” he said. “Some of the Dark Lord’s more, ah, _enthusiastic_ supporters tend to curse first and ask questions later.”

“But you did. Listen to me, that is.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t look like you wanted to be there.”

“No, I did not.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“What I did, it wasn’t just to save myself or my friends. I did it for you too. You said yourself you didn’t want to be there. I couldn’t just let you be tortured! You’re… you’re just as innocent as I am,” she said vehemently.

His lips twisted into a smirk. “Oh pet, I’m nowhere near as innocent as you are.”

His hand came up then, and he trailed a light fingertip over her cheek, making her shiver at his touch. It was the first time he’d laid hands on her without the barrier of his gloves between them.

Hermione fought to control her breathing as he leaned in toward her and trailed his fingers down her cheek and neck.

“You’ve healed nicely.”

Could he feel the rapid beat of her pulse? Could he see how she felt about him? His grey eyes held her captive and frozen in place.

“Such a shame to bruise such delicate skin.”

She swallowed hard as his touch became firmer, his hand sliding around the back of her neck. Before she could respond, he’d pulled her toward him and claimed her lips in a kiss.

It was breathtaking, it was passionate, it was so much MORE than she ever could have expected, of a kiss, of him. She’d dreamed of this but never expected it could actually happen. His tongue was possessive, demanding, and she melted under his forceful embrace. She clung to his tailored black robes and pressed her body against his. He was solid, strong. He was the only thing holding her up in that moment.

His hand fisted in her wild curls and drew her head back, and he pierced her again with his intense stare.

“How long have you wanted that?”

“What makes you think I wanted it? You kissed me,” she managed to get out, amazed at her ability to still string together a coherent thought after a kiss like that.

“It’s written all over your face,” he smirked.

She didn’t know what to say to that. She could only stare helplessly as he walked her backwards until he had her pressed up against the wall. He let go of her hair then and reached for her wrists. Just as he had that night in the Department of Mysteries, he pinned her hands above her head.

“Did you want me to kiss you that night, when I had you pinned against the door like this?” he pressed.

She swallowed hard and nodded. What was it about this man, this beautiful, domineering wizard, who rendered her speechless and helpless? Was this what love felt like? This was such a foreign and confusing but not unwelcome feeling.

“Has anyone kissed you like this before?” he asked as he tightened his grip on her wrists and pressed his knee between her legs as he had that night.

She shook her head. “No one.”

His lips were back on hers then, his tongue pushing into her mouth, and she gave herself into the madness and chaos of passion. Desire pulsed through her body, and she moved instinctively against him.

‘Teach me,’ her mind pleaded. ‘Show me what my body can do. Make me _feel_.’

For one as devoted to education as she, the prospect of learning the intricacies of lust, of sex, with one as obviously gifted as Lucius was thrilling. She wanted more, so much more, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it.

They were both breathing heavily when he finally tore his mouth from hers, his breath hot on her ear as he rested his forehead on her pinned arms.

“Tell me, pet, are you _untouched_?”

“I...I’ve never…” she stammered. The word ‘virgin’ made her sound hopelessly naive and pathetic.

“Good.”

He nipped at her earlobe, drawing a moan from her throat, before releasing her wrists and stepping back from her.

Hermione brought her arms down from the wall and tried to bring her breathing under control. Why had he stopped? Why had he left her so needful, so wanting?

“I expect you to remain untouched,” he said in a low voice. “For now.”

“For now?”

“Deflowering underage witches is highly improper,” he said matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather and not the future loss of her virginity. He looked around the room, at the peeling wallpaper, the decrepit furniture, and the dust. So much dust.

“I also have higher standards than this location affords,” he sniffed with disdain. “When I take you, it will be in a far more fitting locale and when I have the proper time available to make it a memorable experience.”

‘When I take you.’ Oh God. She was in way over her head. He’d managed to make her heart race again, just when she thought she had her body almost under control.

“I did not anticipate this when I went to retrieve the prophecy, but here you are, and I intend to claim you as my own. You are mine, and I do not like to share. You will remain untouched until I have you. Do I make myself clear?”

His tone was menacing and possessive, and God, what was _wrong_ with her that she found it an incredible turn on?

The “yes sir,” that slipped from her lips was unplanned, but she didn’t miss the gleam in his eye at her response.

“When will I see you again?” she asked breathlessly.

He slid his gloves back on and then reached for his wand.

“You’ve got dust in your hair,” he said with a wry twist of his lips before casting a _scourgify_ on her.

He returned his wand to the cane. “Perhaps this summer, but probably not until the next school term has already started. I have a... _cruel master_ who is very demanding with my time.”

She shivered at the mention of Voldemort.

“Is there truly no escape for you?”

“No, pet, there is not. As you know I was under the _imperius_ curse during His rise to power. The dark mark returned when He did, and it is impossible to ignore His summons. He exerts enormous control over His followers, willing or otherwise.”

“He makes you do horrible things, doesn’t He?” she asked in a whisper.

“I do what I have to do. Surviving means that I am alive and well to protect my son. Draco is...I realise he’s been rather antagonistic where you and your friends are concerned, but my son is the most important person in the world to me. The Dark Lord wants the Malfoy name, fortune, and influence at his disposal, and I am not in a position to object.”

Her heart went out to him then at this admission. She’d always seen him as the epitome of wizarding society. She’d always believed if she had his approval, she’d find her place in this world, she’d find acceptance. It was sobering to realise that he was in many ways as threatened and vulnerable as she. He’d been forced into this, and now he had no choice but to protect his only child.

If she’d been unsure of her feelings for him before, she was certain now. She loved him. She loved this complicated, intense, beautiful, brilliant wizard who would do whatever it took to protect his son. She loved him with all of the innocence and optimism of youth and first love. And she knew in that moment, she’d do almost anything for him.

“If Vol- the Dark Lord,” she said, noting his wince at the way she’d almost said his master’s name, “If the Dark Lord were no more, you’d be free.”

“To even think that around Him is treason.”

“You’d be free, and Draco would be safe.”

“It’s a lovely idea, but you have no idea of the power He wields. He is virtually unstoppable. It’s only a matter of time before the wizarding world falls to Him,” he warned.

“But the prophecy… Harry can stop Him,” she said. “Harry’s the only one who can. And you can help us.”

“Ah, so you do know the prophecy. I wondered…” his voice trailed off.

“Dumbledore knew. Dumbledore knew all along,” she said bitterly, still incensed that they’d risked their lives for something their headmaster already knew but had not disclosed.

“That is... unsurprising,” he said. “As for helping Potter, flattering though it is, you think too highly of me.”

“Harry is my best friend. The Order knows me, and I know all of them. Any information you can pass to me about his His plans, anything you can share could go a long way toward stopping him,” she insisted.

“You would have me turn spy?” he asked with an arched eyebrow.

She wanted to say yes, to say that if Professor Snape could do it, so could Lucius, but she wasn’t sure if Lucius knew of his friend’s deception, of the trust Dumbledore had placed in him.

“You were denied a choice before, but you have one now. You’re more than just the mark you were forced to take,” she insisted.

“I will… consider it,” he said finally. “In the meantime, I have requirements of you.”

“You do?”

“Indeed. I suppose you’ll be returning to the muggle world for the summer?” he asked with a sneer, showing his obvious disdain for her origins.

“Not the whole summer. I’ll spend part of the time… elsewhere. I can’t say where.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can you receive owls in the muggle world?”

“Yes. I don’t have my own though, so you’ll need to tell your owl to wait for a response from me if you want me to write you back.”

“I shall owl you then. Expect books from me. I know you desire knowledge, and I shall give it to you, magic you’ll never learn at Hogwarts.”

Her eyes widened at the extraordinary offer, and the thought of learning so much more. Anything he taught her about magic would be a godsend for her own education and could potentially be of tremendous help to Harry.

“What is the catch?” she asked, suddenly wondering what this generous offer would cost her.

He laughed, and she thought him beautiful when he smiled.

“You really were mis-sorted, pet. There is no catch. Only demands. I demand your secrecy. You will not show any books or letters I send you to anyone. You will not tell anyone of our meeting or of any communication between us. You will learn occulemency, and I will test your shields when we’re next together. I will teach you what I can. I will not be a gentle taskmaster, and I will expect nothing less than perfection.”

She swallowed hard but nodded. Of course he would demand discretion. She could do that. It was worth it for the knowledge and for the opportunity to be with him.

“You will remain untouched. Your pathetic little friends will keep their hands, lips, and bodies away from yours. You will not allow so much as a single kiss from anyone else,” he said coldly.

She shivered at his possessiveness. She’d always been the one acting to protect Harry. No one had ever been this protective of her before. No one had ever desired her like this. It was a heady feeling to know that SHE had brought out this side of Lucius Malfoy!

“I promise,” she said in a steady voice, meeting his eyes again.

He smirked before pressing a kiss to her forehead and smoothing a gloved hand over her hair.

“Be good then, _Hermione_. I’ll be in touch.”

He disapparated, leaving her alone and overwhelmed at what had just transpired between them.

~oOo~

 

She was 14 or 15 - she honestly couldn’t recall the exact date - the first time she touched herself with thoughts of Lucius Malfoy running through her head. Her parents were medical professionals and children of the sexual revolution. She’d had access to far more books on human sexuality than the average child, and she knew that in the muggle world at least, there was nothing inherently abnormal about masturbation. The wizarding world seemed a bit more archaic in that regard. Either that, or her roommates were much better at discretion than she’d ever given them credit for.

Regardless of what her roommates did or did not do, Hermione herself had figured out through reading and experimentation just what touches felt good. She’d gone from tentative, curious exploration to more confident strokes of her fingertips, her slender fingers seeking that little nub of flesh and nerves the books called a clitoris. She’d figured out how to wet her fingers in her mouth and slide them through sensitive folds of skin, bumping that little perfect spot between her legs until she felt dizzy and her vagina spasmed and small waves of pleasure rippled through her body.

At some point, she had begun to think about Mr. Malfoy - Lucius, he was always Lucius in her head during these times - when she touched herself. Her early fantasies about him were fairly innocent and generally reflected the young couples she’d seen snogging in dark alcoves of the castle when wandering back from the library after curfew or venturing out with Harry and Ron. Still, it was always about him. She’d tried in fourth year to touch herself to the memory of Viktor’s kisses and fumbling gropes, but it was wholly unsatisfying.

The night following her meeting with Lucius in the Shrieking Shack was the first time Hermione touched herself with actual memories of his hands on her body, his lips on hers. His kiss had been so possessive, his touch electrifying. Behind the privacy of her bed curtains and a hastily cast silencing spell, she’d slipped her hand into her white cotton and lace knickers and stroked herself to orgasm over the memories of his tongue in her mouth, his teeth nipping at her earlobe, at the feel of his much bigger, stronger body holding hers up.

She came quickly, once and then again, unable to stop the flood of tantalizing memories. That was the night she knew she was truly lost. No one had ever made her feel like Lucius had that afternoon outside Hogsmeade, and alone in her bed that night, she knew she’d do almost anything to be with him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience this week while I was traveling for work. As you can see, what happened in the Department of Mysteries has spawned something much more complicated. Moving forward there will definitely be plot points and action you’ll recognise from canon, but you can expect a lot of new details as well. What does it mean for Harry if Sirius doesn’t die at the end of 5th year? What does it mean for Hermione to have a secretive involvement with Lucius? Stay tuned!
> 
> -Elle


	10. Sixth Year, Part 1, 1996

###  Sixth Year, Part 1, 1996

She received exactly three owls from Lucius all summer, each one carrying a book and a brief letter. The first was another book on occulemency. The second and third were on defensive spells and shielding. She’d learned the  _ protego  _ charm when Harry taught it to Dumbledore’s Army the previous school year, but Lucius’s books offered variations of the spell along with other types of magical shields that were supposed to be more effective at blocking dark magic. The killing curse, of course, was unblockable, but she recognised that Lucius had given her a powerful tool in these books. If she could teach these to Harry and to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army, it would go a long way toward helping them all hopefully survive whatever was to come. She practised the wand movements and the words to the spells separately, so as not to trigger the trace on underage magic outside of school. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. 

Hermione was slightly disappointed that the letters from Lucius lacked emotion, but she supposed that he had to be careful in case they were intercepted. Voldemort certainly wouldn’t want one of His Death Eaters involved in any way with a muggleborn. It was the third letter that excited her the most though. It contained an address in Kensington, along with a date and time and the request - that wasn’t a request, more of a command really - that she be there. 

Hermione was a nervous wreck by the time her appointed meeting with Lucius arrived. She’d dressed with care in clothes that were passable in muggle London but still respectable for a witch and had taken the time to apply Sleekeazy to her curls and muggle cosmetics to her face.

The address led her to an ornate and elegant white townhouse in what clearly looked to be a muggle area of London, albeit a very expensive one. She was even more shocked when Lucius opened the front door himself to her and ushered her inside. She’d expected an elf or a human servant of some kind.

“The name of the first book I ever gave you,” he said harshly, shoving her against the now closed door, wand drawn.

She was momentarily taken aback and had to take a second to gather her thoughts before answering and shooting back a question of her own to verify identity. “‘Occulemency: Protecting the Mind.’ What was the nickname you called me the last time I saw you?”

“Pet. Because you fetched so nicely and came when called,” he said with a smirk. She hated that she’d fallen back on  _ that  _ as a question to confirm identity, but it was the first thing that popped into her mind. She had a feeling though that she’d just cemented ‘pet’ as Lucius’s nickname for her.

He relaxed then, apparently convinced she was not an imposter using polyjuice, but before she could also relax, he’d raised his wand at her and hissed,  _ “Legilimens!” _

Given his need for secrecy, she’d expected he might try something like this, so she’d done her best to put up mental shields as soon as she knocked on the front door. She’d practised all summer using the techniques outlined in the books he’d shared with her. 

True to his word, Lucius was not a gentle legilimens. Pressure exploded in her head, and beads of sweat appeared on her brow as she tried to protect her mind and shove him out. She’d categorised her thoughts as an endless card catalogue in a library, with drawers one had to unlock, cards one had to rifle through, and then books one had to seek out before finding a memory contained within. When he finally released her from the spell, she was panting from the struggle to hold him back. 

“Very good, pet,” he said as he sheathed his wand and wiped her face with a handkerchief. 

“That  _ hurt _ ,” she whispered. 

“The Dark Lord is rarely gentle when rifling through the minds of those He mistrusts.”

“Is that - were you mimicking Him?”

“No. He is capable of looking into your mind with a very subtle touch, but if He is angered, it will be painful. Your shields will not hold up against Him, but I’m impressed you were able to do this much on your own. You will improve with practise.”

He kissed her forehead then, making her want to swoon. She tilted her face up toward him, hoping he’d kiss her on the lips, properly, but instead he stepped back from her and ushered her further into the townhome.

“Come.”

“Not a dog, Lucius. Not a dog,” she said with a shake of her head as she followed him down the hall.

The townhome, which she learned had been built by his late grandmother Althea Malfoy, was decorated in blues and creams and golds. It was elegant and refined but also warm and welcoming. Hermione thought it was the most beautiful home she’d ever visited. 

Lucius walked her down hallways and through rooms filled with paintings and antiques and velvets and silks, up stairs lined with elaborate wrought iron balusters. He said not a word to her, and she began to panic that perhaps he was taking her to the master bedroom. She wanted him, she did, but she wasn’t sure she was quite ready for _ that _ .

They finally came to a stop outside a set of double doors, which he threw open with a flourish. She took a steadying breath to calm her nerves and then followed him into...an empty room.

She looked up at him in confusion.

“Draw your wand, pet, and let’s see what you’ve learned.”

“You want to  _ duel  _ me?” she asked incredulously.

“Not a duel. I gave you books to study. Consider this your practical exam.”

The first hex flew before she was mentally prepared for it, and she dodged out of the way.

He made a disapproving sound at her. “No dodging. Block.”

She threw up a shield before the next two curses were sent her direction.

“If you’re attacked by more than one person, you can’t assume you’ll have time to move out of the way,” he lectured. 

He sent a spell into the wall behind her, ricocheting it back towards her. It was fortunately only a mild stinging hex, but she was not prepared for it.

“Always cast your shield all the way around yourself. You should never assume the attacker in front of you is the only one there,” he said before firing again.  

He was graceful with a wand, and the spells he fired at her had a lot of power behind them. It was difficult to maintain her shield under the onslaught, particularly when he switched to darker curses. They continued in this manner for some time with Lucius correcting her form and offering suggestions to improve the strength of her shield or to switch more easily from shielding to offensive magic. 

By the time he stopped and sheathed his wand in that familiar snake-head cane, she was exhausted and mortified at the way she dropped onto her hands and knees as she struggled to catch her breath.

He walked slowly across the room to her and stopped right beside her, his body casting a long shadow over her.

“That was… surprisingly proficient,” he drawled.

“Is that supposed to be high praise?” she asked as she shakily pushed herself up off the floor.

He smirked at her. “For a mere student, your abilities are, shall we say,  _ impressive _ .”

Impressive. She’d practised shields and defensive spells against Lucius Malfoy, pureblood aristocrat, veritable wizarding royalty, and marked Death Eater, and he’d called her abilities impressive.  _ She _ had impressed Lucius Malfoy with her magic!  

Despite her exhaustion, an enormous grin spread across her face. She wasn’t sure when she’d ever been more proud of herself than she was in that moment. For years she had read and studied and practised and revised and prepared and done her absolute best to prove to everyone that she was a real witch, that she belonged in this world.

She had impressed Lucius Malfoy.

“Really, pet, we must work on your countenance,” he murmured.

“What?”

He shook his head slightly. “Every thought of yours shows upon your face. It will hardly do for you to return to Dumbledore with your every thought plain to see. He won’t need legilimency when you look like that.”

She slid her own wand back into her sleeve. “Like what? What am I thinking now?” she challenged.

His lips twisted into a feral smile. “You are most exceptionally pleased with yourself, aren’t you, Miss Granger?” he said slowly. “Yes, you do respond well to praise.”

His voice sent a shiver down her spine, making something inside of her involuntarily clench in the most pleasant of ways. 

“Why shouldn’t I be pleased? My occulemency skills have improved, even without having a regular partner to train me, and my shield held up against most of your assault, even though I’ve not had anyone to practise these new spells with me,” she pointed out.

His grey eyes peered into hers, and she realised with a start that he’d taken a few steps closer to her, until they were almost touching. 

“You want to impress. You want approval, from your professors, from your friends...from  _ me _ ,” he said.

She tore her eyes from his, looking aside in embarrassment at how easily he’d read her. Perhaps her face really did show more than she wanted known.

“I do,” she admitted softly. “Is that so wrong?”

“I’m pleased you want to impress me,” he said. “It makes you happy to be seen as such a  _ good girl _ , doesn’t it?” 

Oh God. What was it about his voice, about the way he could say words like ‘good girl’ and make them sound so delectably filthy? Her stuttered ‘yes’ was accompanied by a blush that spread across her cheeks.

He leaned in toward her, and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating. His breath was hot on her ear and throat as he spoke.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me, Hermione? Hmmm?”

He was so close, so very close to her, and why dear god was he not touching her already? Her body felt tense, coiled. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and her head fell back, exposing her neck to him. She felt his nose, his lips brush along the sensitive column of skin from earlobe down to where her neck met her shoulder. It was a light touch, teasing even. 

“Please,” she pushed out in a shaky breath. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her, to...to make her  _ feel _ .

“Please what? Answer my question.”

She was going to spontaneously combust if he didn’t kiss her soon. 

“Y-yes. I’m your good girl, Lucius,” she gasped, hoping she wasn’t speaking out of turn by calling him by his first name. 

He lifted his head then at her use of his name, and her eyes slowly opened at the loss of his touch. He held her gaze for a long moment, and she wished she knew what he was thinking when he looked upon her. 

She seemingly had her answer when his lips came down on hers. Yes, this, this was what she’d wanted for so long now! She parted her lips for him, welcoming his tongue and yielding control to him. He held her body pressed up against his own, and she wound her arms around his neck, happy to finally able to get her hands in his silky blond hair. 

She could kiss him forever. This was such perfection, such bliss. She could not imagine anyone ever making her heart race like Lucius did, anyone kissing her with such dominance and control and passion. She felt his hands slide down over her hips and the curve of her arse before he pulled her lower body into his. 

Oh god was that...she could suddenly feel something pressing into her lower belly, and she realised with a start that he had what felt like the an erection, or maybe the start of one. She had done that, _ she  _ had turned him on so much. She instinctively pushed up onto the balls of her feet to make up for the difference in their heights and to better align their bodies. She was rewarded by a shot of pleasure through her body as the bulge in his trousers rubbed against her just so. She heard a soft moan and realised with a start that it came from her. Oh what he could do to her body without even undressing her! Hermione was overwhelmed. 

She did not know how long they stood there kissing in the empty room. It could have been a few brief minutes, it could have been longer, but she felt bereft when he eventually unwound her arms from his body and separated them. 

He held her gaze again and rubbed her kiss-swollen bottom lip with his thumb. His lips quirked upward in a smirk.

“Come, pet. We have much to discuss,” he said before turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

 

~oOo~

 

He brought her to a sitting room with blue sofas and rosewood tables and tall windows that were framed with blue silk drapes and overlooked a small garden. A tea service was laid out for them, kept warm under a stasis charm. 

Her body still thrummed with lust and unspent sexual energy, and she was confused as to why he’d stopped. He made her sit beside him on the sofa and serve them both tea, a delicious oolong with a hint of peach to it. She had to fight to control the shaking in her hands as she poured. She’d been attracted to him for so long, and being here with him made her so happy and yet so nervous.

She wanted to ask him why he’d stopped when they both obviously wanted so much more, but he’d moved on already to another topic.

“I truly am impressed with the progress you’ve made. May I assume you wish to learn more?” he asked.

“Oh, yes! Yes, I want to learn whatever you can teach me.” She wondered if he noticed the double entendre in her words. Yes, she wanted to learn magic from him, as much as he was willing to share, but he also made her desire knowledge of a more carnal sort.

“You must understand that for centuries, Hogwarts provided a more diverse curriculum, covering far more aspects of magic than what it provided now,” Lucius lectured. “They’ve long provided a Defense Against the Dark Arts course, and indeed there are valuable lessons to be learned there, should one have a competent teacher - which they’ve not in decades. Over the years though, what they consider ‘dark’ has expanded to encompass many spells, curses, hexes, and jinxes, that are neither light nor dark but fit into more of a grey area.”

She frowned, uncomfortable with the idea of entire realms of magic being out of reach.

“Why would they do that?”

“Most of the blame can be laid at the feet of Albus Dumbledore. You must understand pet that after he defeated Grindelwald, he had magical Britain in the palm of his hand, and he used that power to reshape the curriculum to suit his wants and needs. The Board of Governors did not oppose him, nor did the Ministry of Magic. The result is generations of wizards and witches coming of age without an adequate education. It’s entirely possible that the Dark Lord would not have been so successful had the populace been better educated, had they been taught to wield magic Dumbledore considered too dark.”

Hermione gasped at this news. It had always bothered her that it was so difficult to access books in the library’s restricted section, but she hadn’t previously made the connection between what was not taught and Voldemort’s rise to power. Banning entire segments of so-called ‘grey’ magic or preventing children from learning it felt inherently wrong to Hermione, akin to muggle book burning. 

“And you can teach me these things?” she asked hopefully.

“Indeed I can, pet. We will need to meet regularly for you to apply what you learn in my books, and for you to practise your occulemency.”

She set her tea aside and turned to him eagerly. “I would be happy to do that! I cannot thank you enough for offering to teach me! There’s so much I want to learn, so many gaps in my education. You have no idea - it’s so hard to come into this world as a muggleborn, knowing NOTHING about magic or that this entire other hidden world exists until the age of 11!”

He frowned, and she wondered then if it was wrong of her to remind him of her muggle upbringing. 

“Tell me how you learned of magic. I want to hear about how you came to be in our world,” he said thoughtfully.

She smiled in relief, pleased that he was interested in what she had to say. She went on to explain to him in detail about her first bursts of accidental magic as a toddler - moving items to her that had been out of reach - and how her parents, trained in science, did their best to come up with reasonable explanations for what she did. She told him how Professor McGonagall had come to her home on her 11th birthday, nearly a year before she’d be able to attend Hogwarts, due to her September birthdate, how she’d begged her future head of house for information about the magical world, for books and resources and knowledge, how she wanted to do everything in her power to fit in as a witch because she’d felt so out of place in the muggle world. She explained her frustration at realising she was at such a disadvantage compared to children who’d grown up in magical families, at the cultural differences no one warned her about in advance, at her confusion over being thrust into a new world without adequate preparation. 

He listened intently, occasionally asking questions. She was surprised when he asked, with apparent genuine interest, what she thought would have made the transition easier.

“I was fortunate that my September birthday meant I had almost a year to read books like  _ Hogwarts: A History _ and learn what I could. Harry was raised by his muggle relatives, and his birthday is at the end of July. He barely had any time at all to learn about the magical world before he came to Hogwarts. I expressed magic years before Professor McGonagall came to see me. Surely someone knew I was magical even then. Why didn’t someone come sooner?”

“Would it not have been too tempting then, knowing there was another world you could be part of but knowing you had years to wait?” he asked.

“But why wait? Why isn’t there some sort of transition program for muggleborns to expose them gradually to the magical world and teach them about it long before they come to Hogwarts? At a bare minimum there ought to be a class offered to first year muggleborns on wizarding etiquette and culture, but really, we should learn that before 11.”

He looked thoughtful. 

“You know, when you think about it, it would make everything so much better. I know some of Vol- You-Know-Who’s supporters are opposed to the presence of muggleborns in the magical world, saying that we don’t respect their culture, but we don’t KNOW it. No one helps us adjust. No one tells us much of anything. We can’t help but bring muggle culture with us because it’s all we know!” she continued.

He patted his large hand on her knee, making her shiver at the feel of his hand on her bare skin. 

“You’ve given me much to consider, pet.”

She smiled, proud that she’d had such an open dialogue with Lucius, that he welcomed and valued her opinion.

“I have books I will give you today, on some of these grey areas of magic. I want you to read them all and begin practising the wand movements. We will meet again here before you return to Hogwarts for you to show me what you’ve learned. I will test your occulemency skills again then as well,” he said.

Her face fell then, realising that their time together must be coming to an end. 

“What is it?” he asked, noting her concerned look.

“Are you sending me away, then?” she asked.

“I would prefer not, but I have additional obligations and cannot spend all day here with you.”

“When I go back to Hogwarts, will I be able to see you?” she asked hopefully, remembering that he’d said they would meet to practise.

“Of course. I cannot guarantee how often, but I have not invested time in teaching you just to ignore you. You are...most unexpected, but I find myself delighting in your company.”

She grinned, so absurdly happy that he wanted to spend time with her, that he considered her an worthwhile investment. 

“Thank you so much, Lucius. Words seem insufficient, but I am so grateful for your willingness to teach me,” she said softly. 

“Come then, let us retrieve your new books.”

He presented her with three more books on offensive and defensive jinxes and hexes that she’d never seen in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library and then sent her on her way with one last lingering kiss and a promise he’d invite her back.

 

~oOo~

 

True to his word, he met with her again at the townhouse before she returned to school, requiring her to slip away from Grimmauld Place to meet with him. Just as before, he verified her identity at the door and tested her mental shields. Just as before he brought her to the empty room, which she learned was a formal dueling room equipped with protective charms to keep it from being blasted apart. She demonstrated what she’d learned, and he provided instruction, correcting the occasional wand movement, testing her ability to perform non-verbally. He was pleased with her progress, and she was thrilled at his interest.

Just as before, they returned to the room with the blue sofas for tea and conversation and additional occulemency practise. This time though when he finished testing her mental shields, he pulled her into his lap, making her straddle his thighs as he snogged her senseless. This time was so much better than the last because he pinched her nipples through the soft fabric of her blouse and the lace of her bra before putting his hands on her hips and showing her how to roll them so her damp knickers rubbed just so against the hard bulge in his trousers. This time he unbuttoned her blouse and bit gently at her nipples, wetting the cups of her white lace bra. This time she figured out how to move her body so his trouser-covered erection bumped her clitoris in just the right way to send little shocks of pleasure shooting through her body, and he groaned in pleasure and latched onto her neck with his perfect, sinful mouth and gripped her hips hard enough to bruise as he moved her against him. 

This time instead of being left wet and wanting, he whispered dirty words in her ear and guided her movements until her knickers were soaked, and she cried out as something deep inside of her shattered, and she came hard and breathless on top of him. She collapsed against him, resting her forehead on his shoulder as he held her pelvis tightly cradled against his own. 

“So good, such a good girl for me,” he murmured into her curls. 

“That was amazing,” she breathed out.

“Oh pet, there is so much more I can do to your body,” he promised. “And I will, as soon as you come of age.”

She lifted her head to gaze at him.

“Really?”

He smirked. “I have so many plans for you, starting with your birthday.”

“You want to see me on my birthday?”

“September 19th, correct?” 

“Yes. How did you know that?” she asked in amazement.

He snorted at the dazed expression on her face. “I was a school governor, pet, and you were the one student who consistently bested my son. Of course I looked at your file.”

She blushed at the simple explanation, embarrassed that she had initially thought he’d sought out information about her in recent weeks because he desired her.

“Unfortunately, as your birthday falls on a Thursday this year,” he continued. “I will be unable to see you that exact day, but the following Saturday is a Hogsmeade weekend, and I will be with you then.”

The expression on his face told her that there would be no arguing. She would have to find a way to get rid of Harry and Ron for the day. It was not the first time she chose between Lucius and Harry, and though she didn’t know it at the time, it would not be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your comments and feedback about this story! I'm overwhelmed by the response. I don't normally travel from work, and I've not fully unpacked from last week, but I'm headed out of town again on Tuesday. I am going to try very hard to get another chapter edited and posted for you before I get on the plane Tuesday morning. In the meantime, I hope you've enjoyed this update. I can't wait to hear what you think now that Lucius and Hermione's relationship is taking a more intimate turn. 
> 
> For my Jewish readers, chag Pesach kasher vesame’ach. For my Christian readers, Happy Easter!
> 
> -Elle


	11. Sixth Year, Part 2, 1996

###  Sixth Year, Part 2, 1996

 

For Hermione, her upcoming birthday and the possible consummation of her illicit relationship with Lucius Malfoy looked as if they would be the most important and momentous parts of her upcoming 6th year at Hogwarts. For Harry though it was a heated and ongoing argument between Sirius and Dumbledore that would define his 6th year. While Hermione spent her summer mostly in the muggle world, Harry had moved into Grimmauld Place with Sirius, flat out refusing to go back to the Dursley’s. 

According to Harry, Dumbledore had attempted to escort Harry back to his aunt and uncle, only to be thrown out of Grimmauld Place. Hermione hadn’t been aware that Dumbledore, as secret keeper, could be so unceremoniously tossed out, but she didn’t exactly feel sorry for him.

Sirius had blown up at the older wizard when Dumbledore had revealed that he knew the prophecy all along, knew about it and had not disclosed the full contents to James and Lily, to Harry, or to anyone else. Harry filled her in on the shouting matches Sirius and Dumbledore had over floo call, the vituperative letters owled back and forth, and the argument that took place right outside Grimmauld Place with Sirius yelling at Dumbledore through the front door. Upon hearing about her best friend’s drama-filled summer, Hermione was torn between feelings of shock and awe. Sirius’s willingness to stand up for his godson had certainly earned him her respect. 

She had not realised until they boarded the Hogwarts Express just how dire the situation had become until Harry confessed to her, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Neville that Sirius had threatened to pull Harry from Hogwarts and leave Britain altogether. 

Hermione suspected that deep down, Harry had enough of a martyr complex that he would not turn his back on what he perceived to be his destiny. If the fate of the wizarding world rested on his shoulders, then Harry would do his duty, no matter how horrible it was. Lucius would have called it the epitome of Gryffindor behavior, she was sure. How the Sorting Hat ever considered Slytherin for him was simple beyond Hermione’s comprehension.

She also knew though as she watched her dear friend explain to them all how Sirius was prepared to flee the country with him and all of the remaining Black family assets, that Harry was deeply moved by the idea that  _ someone  _ cared enough about him to take such drastic action. She cared for Harry enough to risk her life - repeatedly - to help him, but she knew it wasn’t the same thing. She did not have the power or the influence or the funds to save her friend. Since his parents’ death, the only adult willing to stand up for him was Sirius Black, wizard the world believed was a wanted criminal and escaped convict.

Still, she sat with rapt attention and listened as Harry described the argument he’d had with Sirius over whether or not to return to Hogwarts, rolling her eyes as Ron exclaimed, “But if you didn’t come back, how would we have any hope of winning the Quidditch Cup this year?!”

She couldn’t blame Sirius for not trusting Dumbledore, especially now that she knew - thanks to Lucius - that their headmaster was a legilimens of great skill and had peeked into her mind without her consent. Dumbledore had deliberately withheld information from them, but most of all from Harry. 

“I told Sirius I wasn’t about to just skip town. If I’m meant to defeat Voldemort, if that’s the point of the prophecy, then I need to be at Hogwarts where I can learn how to do that,” he explained. “Still though, Sirius used the threat that we’d leave to negotiate better terms - Dumbledore is talking to the Ministry, trying to get Sirius pardoned for what Pettigrew did. I don’t exactly trust the Wizengamot, but they do listen to Dumbledore.”

“Do you trust Dumbledore though?” Hermione pressed.

“Why wouldn’t he? I mean - it’s Dumbledore!” Ron gaped.

“Were you not listening?” Ginny asked, whacking her brother. “Dumbledore tried to force Harry to go back to his awful Aunt and Uncle!”

“Honestly? The person I DON’T trust is Snape, and I had that argument with Remus and Sirius both,” Harry admitted. “Sirius agrees with me, but Remus is adamant that Dumbledore trusts him, and therefore we should as well. I’d say I trust Dumbledore a lot more than I trust Snape.”

“Professor Snape does seem to have a serious wrackspurt infestation,” Luna said in a dreamy voice, looking up from her issue of The Quibbler at everyone. “But I suppose I would trust him before I would any of the Death Eaters who escaped the Ministry last spring.”

“I still can’t believe the Aurors haven’t been able to arrest a single person from that night!” Harry said angrily, switching gears to one of his preferred rants. “Malfoy was THERE. We all saw him, without his mask!”

“Bellatrix Lestrange too,” Neville said with a shudder. 

“And Hermione and I heard them say Dolohov and Nott!” Harry continued.

Hermione bit her bottom lip to avoid saying anything. She’d spent a little bit of time at the Burrow and Grimmauld Place before returning to school, and she’d listened for days to Harry, Ron, and Ginny rant about the unfairness of the entire situation, that the Death Eaters got away with the entire attack. Hermione was honestly still surprised that she, Harry, and the others had not gotten in trouble for breaking into the Department of Mysteries or destroying all those prophecies, but she suspected that Lucius might have had a hand in that. She knew he had the Minister of Magic in his pocket. 

Even though the Death Eaters had avoided arrest, rumours still swirled in both the press and in public about the involvement of the Malfoys, Lestranges, and Notts in the break in. Lucius and Nott Sr. had both provided alibis for their whereabouts that night, according to the  _ Daily Prophet _ , and while it was widely acknowledged that the Lestranges had indeed escaped Azkaban, no one could find them to arrest them. As such, the bulk of the blame for the break in had been laid at the feet of Rodolphus, Rabastan, and Bellatrix Lestrange. This was perfectly fine with Hermione, as she had no loyalty to Lucius’s twisted sister-in-law. 

“Malfoy probably has them in hiding. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re staying with him,” Harry said bitterly. “Sirius says Bellatrix is Narcissa Malfoy’s sister.”

Ron snorted. “Doesn’t really surprise anyone does it, that the ferret is related to that crazy bint?” 

Hermione had no interest in defending Lucius’s wife, but she felt compelled to argue against the idea that Lucius might be hiding his sister-in-law. 

“Sirius has also said that Bellatrix was insane even before the first war, and that Narcissa and Andromeda were not. It doesn’t sound like she’d have a compelling reason to take them in. Besides, even though we all saw Mr. Malfoy there in the Ministry that night, not a lot of people believe us. He’s all about his public image, so why would he risk that to take in the lot of them?” 

“Why are you defending them?” Harry asked in irritation.

“I’m not. I’m just pointing out that they don’t seem to have a reason to take in escaped convicts, particularly when the press and the Ministry seems to be blaming the Lestranges for everything that happened. It’s probably in the Malfoys’ best interest to have nothing to do with them, related or not,” she explained with a shrug. 

Before Harry could response, the door to their carriage slid open then revealing Malfoy - Draco that is - along with a slender boy with dark hair and glasses Hermione recognised as Theodore Nott, and a tall, handsome dark-skinned boy she knew was named Blaise Zabini.

Malfoy looked them over with a sneer. “Pansy’s not here. Wrong cabin again Zabini,” he tossed over his shoulder. “This one’s tainted with mudblood.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the predictable insult, although she couldn’t help but imagine throwing it in his face that this ‘mudblood’ had snogged his precious pureblood father. She could picture his eyes widening in shock and horror, his mouth falling open, speechless for once. Oh it would be beautiful to stun him like that. What a pity she couldn’t say anything. 

She didn’t realise she had a hint of a smile on her face until Malfoy gave a most undignified snort. “You think that’s funny, mudblood? You won’t be smiling with the Dark Lord wipes away filth like you,” he spit.

Before Hermione - or Harry - could respond, Ginny had her wand out and cast a quick bat bogey hex at the blond wizard. The trio of Slytherins fled quickly after that, with Malfoy making the most undignified noises as bats spewed from his nose. 

The other occupants of the train car all turned to look at Ginny. 

“What?” she asked with a shrug. “I figured I’d save everyone the trouble of arguing with him and threatening him and just skip straight to the hexing.”

  
  


~oOo~

 

The start of their sixth year of Hogwarts was remarkable in its normalcy. Harry, Ron, and Ginny obsessed over Quidditch. Professor Snape induced just as much misery teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts as he had with potions. Their new potions professor, Horace Slughorn, was obnoxious in his adoration of Harry, unaware that Harry’s remarkable prowess in potions was attributed solely to the mysterious and potentially dangerous scribblings in an old advanced potions textbook. 

Before she knew it, it was her 17th birthday. 

Hermione supposed she should have felt magically ‘adult-like’ in some way, but she really did not. She celebrated that day with her friends, who treated her to a surprise party in the Room of Requirement, aided by Dobby, who’d helped them slip cakes and pumpkin juice out of the kitchen. The most exciting part of the day came that morning at breakfast, when an unfamiliar owl swooped in and deposited a sealed envelope to her. She brushed it off as probably a birthday letter from Viktor Krum and waited until she had privacy to read it. 

The letter was unsigned, but obviously from Lucius, as he’d addressed it to “My pet.” The letter was a portkey she could activate on Saturday once outside the school’s wards. She could not stop the enormous smile that spread across her face as she read his wish for a happy birthday, and his desire to see her very soon. She’d had weeks to come to grips with the knowledge that she would involve herself far more intimately with Lucius once she turned seventeen, and to her surprise, she was not yet nervous about seeing him. She just needed to figure out how to slip away from her friends.

In the end, she knew they would not accept her going alone to Hogsmeade. The meager amount of time she would be able to get away from her friends in the tiny wizarding town by claiming to be in the bookstore was not nearly enough to spend with Lucius. So it was that on Saturday, she managed to get away from Harry and Ron by feigning illness. As soon as they left for the village, she threw back the covers of her bed and dressed quickly in black lingerie she’d purchased specially for this occasion, as well as a set of elegantly tailored grey robes she’d splurged on at Twilfit & Tattings before she returned to Scotland. 

Once past the school gates, she withdrew her wand and activated the portkey. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you're all anxious to get to the smut, and I PROMISE it's coming. Really. Next chapter. There will be graphic sex this coming weekend. Pinky promise. In the meantime, if you love the Malfoys and want more smut, check out "Scenes from a Seduction," my WIP Draco/Hermione/Astoria smut-fest that won for best erotic story in the Behind the Book Fanfiction Nook's Forbidden Fruit contest: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941870. Yeah, yeah, I know. It's not finished either, but I wrote what's there in just four days, and I'm working to get the rest of it written in between writing chapters of this story.
> 
> Love to you all,  
> Elle


	12. Sixth Year, Part 3, 1996

###  Sixth Year, Part 3, 1996

 

Her stomach lurched and Hermione had the uncomfortable feeling that she’d been squeezed through a very small tube and spat out the other end. She stumbled as the portkey dropped her… somewhere. She looked around in confusion. She’d expected to appear in the Kensington townhouse she’d visited, but she was definitely somewhere else.

This place was darker, both in decor and in overall feeling. She was in a room filled with dark wood-paneled walls, a large grey stone fireplace, and a mix of furnishings that looked like both muggle and magical antiques with a decidedly masculine feel to them. The magic here felt heavier somehow.

“Lucius?” she called out.

“Happy birthday, pet.”

She spun at the sound of his voice to see him leaning against a doorframe, dressed in black trousers and shirt, having apparently shed his waistcoat and outer robes.

Her face lit up at the sight of him, and she launched herself into his arms. He returned her embrace and patted her curls, and she heard him laugh lightly under his breath. 

“Where are we?” she asked.

“Scotland. Another Malfoy property, once frequently used as a hunting lodge, although I’m not sure the last time anyone actually stayed here whilst hunting,” he said. “Come.” 

She followed him through the house, marveling at the apparent vastness of the Malfoy family fortune. According to Lucius, the home had been built in the early 1700s by Aurelius Malfoy and was “on the small side” with just six bedrooms. She caught glimpses of mountains and forest as they passed windows, and she thought the views were breathtaking. It felt very isolated and rustic but also luxurious, a perfect place for them to be alone together. 

He brought her to a bedroom, but instead of steering her toward the canopied bed laden with tartan plaids and warm knit blankets, he led her to a brown leather sofa in front of the fireplace. The sight of the large bed with its plush pillows and blankets made something inside her quiver with nervous anticipation, remembering his promise that he planned to ‘take her’ once she was of age in the wizarding world. 

“Sit here. I have something for you,” he said.

“You didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve done so much for me already with the books and the lessons.”

“I do not need a reason to give gifts. I give gifts when they are deserved or when I choose. Open it,” he said, handing her a small box wrapped in shiny black paper and tied with white ribbon.

She made quick work of the ribbon and wrapping paper, revealing a black velvet box. Jewelry, likely. Her pulse quickened at the thought of him selecting jewelry for her. Her hands trembled as she opened the box to find a stunning bracelet. It appeared to be made of silver or platinum and had delicate links that twisted around each other in a manner similar to the vines on her wand. In the center was a solid circular silver disk edged in a silvery vine pattern. Her initials were engraved in the center of the disk in an elegant swirling font. The entire piece shimmered and glinted in the light in a way mere muggle jewelry never quite did. 

“Oh, Lucius, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed, holding it up to examine it more closely. It was simple yet elegant and exactly the sort of piece she might have chosen for herself. It warmed her heart to think that he knew her well enough to select something so utterly perfect.

He smirked. “It’s far more simple than I would have preferred, but you cannot return to school clad in precious gems or something from the Malfoy vault. It would raise too many questions.”

She stared at him wide-eyed at the implication that he wanted to give her jewels.

“This...no, it’s perfect. It’s the loveliest thing anyone has ever given me!”

He held his hand out for the bracelet, and she gave it to him, allowing him to sit beside her and fasten it onto her left wrist. It clicked into place, and she felt a wave of magic brush over her as the clasp vanished. 

“It’s imbued with magic?”

“Of course. You will not be able to remove it. Only I can do that. It functions not unlike those galleons you charmed to hide your activities from Umbridge last year. Oh yes, pet, I know all about that. You can use your wand to send short messages to me, and I you. I will see your messages in my ring,” he said, showing her the Malfoy signet ring on his right hand. “This way I need not fear an owl message being intercepted, and I can reach you easily, even in the muggle world.”

She was overwhelmed as she lifted her arm to admire the bracelet. “Oh Lucius, I love it! Thank you so much!” 

“It also functions as a built-in portkey,” he added. “You can activate it just as you did my letter today. It will bring you here to this property, and the wards will alert me that you are here. I cannot guarantee that I will arrive straight away, but in the event of an emergency, you can call for Mipsy from here.”

“An elf?” she asked hesitantly.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes. I heard all about your little crusade from Draco. Mipsy is treated well, pet. Should you have occasion to see her or speak with her, do not insult her by attempting to provide her with clothes. She is my elf and has been told that while you are here, she may assist you.”

She hesitated for a moment. Lucius had been so kind, and she did not want to insult him, but everything Harry had ever told her about Dobby and Lucius weighed heavily on her mind.

“What is it?” he asked, noting her hesitation.

“Elves are sentient creatures, and I do not believe in slavery,” she said carefully. “Elves don’t deserve to be enslaved or treated cruelly.”

“Elf magic is different from ours, and the bond between them and us is best described as, I believe the muggle term is symbiotic,” he said.

Her eyes widened at the use of his scientific term, and she opened her mouth to respond, but he shushed her with a wave of his hand.

“This is yet another subject that should be explained in depth to muggleborn students well before they arrive at Hogwarts, but is regrettably neglected by the current headmaster. Let us retire this discussion for another day. I am not dismissing your concern, but I have limited time with you today, and I wish to make the most of it,” he said. He reached for her hand again and pressed a kiss into her palm. 

At once her thoughts about elvish welfare were replaced with a prickle of gooseflesh on her skin and the reminder that at some point today, she was going to end up in that bed with the beautiful wizard before her. 

He pulled her to him then and kissed her until she was breathless and writhing against him. When the kiss ended, he gazed at her as he rubbed a thumb over her swollen bottom lip. 

“What is it?” she asked in a whisper, unnerved by the intensity of his stare.

“What you did at the Ministry - I never would have anticipated anything of the sort. You are extraordinary, pet,” he said in a low voice. “I am so fortunate to have you.”

Hermione crawled into his lap in response and kissed him again, overwhelmed by his words and the implied sentiment. It wasn’t a declaration of love, but it was still deeply meaningful to her.

His hands slid under the edge of her robes, over the lace tops of her thigh high stockings, and she rolled her hips the way he’d shown her the last time they were together, drawing a soft groan from his lips.

She gathered every bit of her Gryffindor bravery to end the kiss and whisper into his ear.

“Lucius, I want you to teach me. Teach me how to please you. I want you to teach me  _ everything _ .”

She dared a glance back at his face, wanting to see his reaction. His eyes narrowed slightly and his hands reflexively gripped her hips even tighter, almost to the point of discomfort.

“You don’t know what you ask,” he said, a hint of a threat in his words, a tone of warning in his voice.

“I do. I want you,” she confessed.

His expression darkened and then his hands slipped from under her robes. She sat in silence on his lap, meeting his gaze as he removed her outer robe and dragged down the zip on her dress.

“Strip.”

It was a command, and something inside her clenched involuntarily. She pushed herself from his lap and stood on shaky legs. He’d managed to undo most of the zipper on her dress, so she tugged it down the rest of the way and slid the dress from her body, standing before him in bra, pants, thigh high stockings, and black heels. 

She was beyond nervous that he’d look upon her, judge her, and find her lacking in some way, so she was surprised when he looked her up and down and murmured, “beautiful,” under his breath.

“Kneel.”

She looked at him in wide-eyed surprise, and he arched an eyebrow at her. 

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pet.”

She knelt carefully on the rug, placing her hands on his legs for balance and then inched forward so she was on her knees between his legs. Her eyes were drawn from his face to his hands as he silently unbuckled his belt and unfastened his trousers. He gripped her right hand in his and brought it to the noticeable bulge in his trousers. With his guidance, she palmed his erection, feeling the shape of his cock through his clothing before he guided her hand into his pants.

“Wrap your hand around my cock and slide it up and down.” 

She gasped at the feel of an erect cock in her hand for the first time. It was hard, harder than she would have expected and very warm, and the skin slid as she moved her hand as instructed. It felt big, and she tried not to feel nervous at his apparent size. Lucius lifted his hips and shoved his clothes out of the way, exposing his cock to her innocent eyes. She’d never given much thought to the appearance of the male anatomy, but now looking upon it for the first time, she thought him beautiful. 

“Grip it harder.”

She obeyed and decided that she liked the feel of his cock in her hand. It was a bit exhilarating to know that she was pleasing him, that she was the reason his voice was strained, and his hips were moving in tandem with her hand. 

“Now use your mouth.” 

She felt his hand in her hair, guiding her head down before gathering her hair in his fist. She knew from the giggles and whispers of her dorm mates that men seemed to like it when a witch used her mouth  _ there _ , but she wasn’t entirely sure how to best go about it. Obviously using her teeth was a bad idea but…

“Use your tongue and lick me, pet.” 

She hesitated for a moment but then leaned in and flicked the tip of her tongue over the head of his cock, where a bead of moisture had collected. It wasn’t a taste she’d ever describe as delicious, but it was not unpleasant. She repeated the motion with a broader swipe of her tongue, feeling braver this time. 

Lucius shifted on the sofa and his hands flexed in her hair, massing her scalp as words of praise and instruction poured from his lips. He fulfilled her request to teach, telling her how to use her tongue, her lips, how to take the plummy head of his cock into her mouth and slide her lips as far down as she could, stroking the underside of his cock with her tongue. He taught her how to keep her hand fisted around the base of his cock and how to move it in concert with her mouth. 

The more he talked, the more strained his voice became, and Hermione realized that despite her lack of experience, he was enjoying her efforts. He obviously seemed to enjoy the visual of his cock disappearing into her mouth, as he’d dutifully kept her hair out of the way. As she slid her lips back up his cock, she flicked her eyes up toward his face. He was breathing through his mouth, and his head was tilted back, an enraptured expression on his face. She couldn’t help the involuntary moan that slipped from her lips and vibrated around his cock. His eyes met hers then, and he thrust, the head of his cock pushing much further into her mouth than before.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, she thought in a panic. He was in her throat, and her air supply was suddenly cut off, and she couldn’t pull away, couldn’t move back because he had such a tight grip on her hair and her head. She tried not to gag. Her eyes began to water, and panic rose in her chest from the lack of oxygen. She made an incoherent sound around his cock, drawing another groan from him.

“Fuck, yes! Like that. You look so good there on your knees with my cock in your mouth,” he hissed. 

He loosened his grip enough for her to pull her head back and inhale sharply through her nose. 

“Again. Just like that.”

He thrust again, and she did her best not to gag as his cock brushed the back of her throat. It was awkward, but she figured out the rhythm of when to take in quick breaths and when to swallow around his cock. This was… honestly a lot more complicated than she’d expected. It was not unpleasant, once the fear that she would choke or suffocate passed, and it was obvious that Lucius enjoyed it. She was certainly learning a great deal that was for sure, but she was not sure this was going to go on her list of favorite things to do. 

Then she looked up. She made eye contact with him again, and she was floored by his expression of desire. An unfamiliar feeling settled in her then:  _ power _ . He may have been corrupting her innocence on this day, but she realised with a start that she had an enormous power of her own. Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful, desirable wizards in the world was coming undone because of  _ her _ . The breathless curses slipping from his lips were because of her. The erotic moans and groans were because of  _ her _ . The way he looked at her in that moment, the way his hands clutched at her curls...it was power, and she relished it. 

He warned her before he came, but it was obvious that he did not intend to come anywhere other than her mouth. It was also obvious when he did come that there was no other option than to swallow, as he didn’t appear inclined to let go of her hair. When he finally released her, she discreetly wiped her mouth and told herself that she needed to learn a wandless, non-verbal charm to freshen her breath.

Lucius tugged her into his lap, still breathing hard as he curled her body around him. 

“Oh pet, you are so good,” he murmured, lazily stroking her curls. 

She tucked her face into his neck and shoulder and smiled, pleased with this newfound feminine sexuality and power. Her body thrummed with magic and desire. This was so wonderful! No wonder witches were willing to service a wizard with their mouths. She’d initially thought of it as inherently submissive, but she was undeniably turned on by how he’d looked and sounded and reacted as she pleasured him. 

“I liked that,” she admitted softly after a few moments.

“Did you?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“You really are a treasure,” he said, pulling her into a kiss. She was surprised he’d want to kiss her after her mouth had been  _ there _ , but he snogged her thoroughly and his hands cupped her breasts and slid between her thighs. She gasped and arched into him when his fingers stroked the damp gusset of her knickers.

“Mmm...you really  _ did  _ like that didn’t you?” His voice was tinged with a hint of wonder. 

“More!” she demanded, emboldened by her newfound sexual power. 

He laughed and stood abruptly with her, making her shriek and wrap herself around him to avoid falling. He deposited her on the bed and quickly shed his clothes, stripping down to his pants before joining her. 

“More?” he asked, arching an eyebrow and reaching around to unhook her bra. Her eyes widened at the practised ease with which unfastened the garment and tossed it aside, and then rational thought was gone as his lips closed around her nipple. 

He pushed her back into the pillows, moving his body on top of hers to suckle and nip at her breasts. She wove her fingers into his silky hair and arched into his touch. Yes, this was good, so so good, she thought. 

He released her and sat up abruptly on his heels, making her whimper in dismay at the lack of contact. 

“Please don’t stop!” she cried out, instinctively opening her legs for him. 

“Oh pet, I have no intention of stopping. Not today. You’re mine, and I want you completely naked,” he drawled imperiously. 

She watched with breathless anticipation as he removed her heels and slowly peeled one thigh high stocking and then the other down her legs, deliberately digging the tips of his nails into the soft skin of her inner thighs. 

“I wore those for you,” she said, noting the careless way he’d tossed them aside.

“They look better on my floor.” His smirk was downright sinful. 

He remained between her spread legs and smoothed his fingertips again over her knickers before he palmed her mound. She rocked her hips in response, wanting him to touch her more intimately. 

“And this? Did you wear this for me too?” he asked, nodding at the black satin and lace undergarment.

She wanted to respond, but her voice was suddenly stuck in her throat. She nodded mutely and arched into his touch. 

“Beautiful.”

She gasped when he grabbed the low waistband of her knickers and roughly jerked them down her legs. Her knickers joined the rest of her clothing on the floor, and he pushed her thighs wide apart. 

“You’re so wet aren’t you? Did having my cock in your throat do this?” he asked. His fingers worked a tantalizing trail up her legs and over the soft thatch of neatly groomed curls between her legs. Her eyes fluttered closed and she moaned but did not answer. 

He slapped her inner thigh, and her eyes flew open in shock.

“You will answer me, pet. Did sucking my cock make your pussy wet?” 

She blushed furiously at the coarse words but nodded. 

“Was it sucking my cock or swallowing my come that made you so hot?” he prompted.

Oh God, she was going to die of embarrassment, Hermione thought. Somehow talking about the act they’d just engaged in was far more embarrassing than actually doing it. 

“Both,” she finally whispered. “I… I like to please you.”

His grin was positively feral as he finally, finally slid his fingers through the wet folds of her body, making her cry out when he brushed a fingertip over her aching clitoris. 

“Of course you do,” he said soothingly. “You’re such a good girl, aren’t you, pet?”

His fingers were wicked, or charmed with some sort of spell. That was the only conclusion she could reach because she could not understand how he could touch her body so intimately for the very first time and make her feel like  _ this _ . How did he know her body better than she knew it herself?

“I want to hear you say it,” he prompted, pushing one and then two fingers into her tight channel. “Say that you’re my good girl.”

She moaned and writhed under him. “Yes! Yes, I’m your good girl, Lucius!”

His hand moved faster, and somehow fingers were thrusting inside of her and rubbing at her clit and pinching and tuggle at her nipple all at the same time, and it was an overload of sensation.

“Yes, you are. And good girls get to come,” he said. 

His voice, his words, were silk sliding across her body. Her eyes fluttered closed, and then, then he touched  _ something _ inside of her, and her body jerked, and she cried out and clutched at his arm, at the bedding, at something, anything to anchor her. Before she could even wonder how on earth he’d managed to provoke that kind of sensation in her, he did it again, and again, and her body was not her own. It belonged to him, it answered his every command, and he wrung sensation from her, until her body was so tightly coiled she was sure she would snap and break apart into a million pieces.

“Come for me, Hermione.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. It was too much, too much stimulation, too much sensation, too much everything, and she couldn’t possibly bear it. Moans and whimpers and cries and words of praise, pleas of mercy slipped from her lips. 

And then...bliss. Completion. Perfection. 

Nothing she’d ever done to herself, no secretive touches in the night under her blankets could ever compare to the spasms of pleasure that washed over her. 

She was still recovering from an overload of sensation, her mind still blank when he positioned his body over hers. 

“Take a deep breath, pet.”

She obeyed automatically, grateful that she did when she felt a stretch and pinching sensation deep inside of her and then, oh God, his cock was inside of her! She gasped for breath and pushed at his shoulders. He was big, too big, and he was going to rip her in two. 

“Shhh,” he whispered soothingly, nipping at her ear lobe. “You’re still so tight, pet. Relax.”

She tried to release any lingering tension in her body, still overwhelmed at the sensations overloading her brain. 

“So big.”

“You’re okay.”

He kissed her then, and his lips and tongue were soothing and distracting, and she relaxed without realising it, curling her limbs around him. He moved within her, sliding out and pushing back in, moaning with pleasure into their kiss. 

What started out as too intense, too much began to feel good. She clung to Lucius as he moved, her nails inadvertently digging into his shoulders and back. He paused long enough to grab her wrists and pin them above her head before thrusting into her again and making her cry out. His grip on her wrists was almost too tight, almost painful, but what he was doing with his hips, his cock was a pleasant distraction, especially when he thrust deep and his pelvis bumped her clitoris and sent little shocks of pleasure through her body. 

Even in her relative innocence, she could tell when he was about to come as the steady pace of his thrusts accelerated and his moans and breathing became ragged.. Lucius in the throes of passion was wild and beautiful, and she wanted to remember this moment forever. 

He came with a roar and then collapsed on top of her, his body pressed deliciously against hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. I can't post from my work laptop, and that's all I had with me on my trip. I avoided this scene for the longest and wrote around it before eventually coming back to it because I wanted to get it just right: it's Hermione's first time so it needed to have the awkwardness of first-time sex but also be sexy, especially since she has such an experienced partner. And it also has to be relatively true to who these characters are. That's a tall order, but I am so happy with how this chapter turned out, and I hope that you love it as much as I do.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle


	13. Sixth Year, Part 4, 1996

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sharing your thoughts with me on the story thus far. I've so enjoyed reading your comments. I have revised this chapter over and over again and am not 100% happy with it, but I also don't want to hold onto a chapter while I nitpick it to death either. We're four chapters into 6th year now, and the school year has barely started. This is by far the longest school year in the story thus far in terms of both word count and chapters. There's a lot of action to come for Hermione this year!

###  Sixth Year, Part 4, 1996

 

Hermione curled up beside Lucius, both to hide her discomfort over being naked now that they were finished and to reassure herself that he still wanted her and cared for her now that he’d taken her virginity. She disliked feeling vulnerable, even with the wizard she adored. He stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply but not speaking. When she moved closer to him, he lifted an arm around her, allowing her to place her head on his chest. A wave of his hand sent a blanket over them both, making her feel less exposed and a bit in awe of his ability to do wandless, silent magic.

“Did you...I didn’t know you could do wandless magic!” she gasped.

“You just had sex for the first time, and you’re impressed by my wandless magic?” he laughed. “Pet, you wound me grievously.”

She blushed and ducked her head in embarrassment and said nothing.

“Come now, too shy to respond?” he said in a teasing voice.

Seized by a rush of Gryffindor bravery - although not too much so because she didn’t dare raise her head and look him in the eye, much less confess her love - Hermione placed a hand on his bare chest and pushed out her words quickly before she lost her nerve.

“I think you’re brilliant. I’m in awe of how much you know, and I’ve realised just how much I don’t know, how much I’m not learning at school.”

He lifted his head to look at her. “I should certainly hope you’re not learning what we just did at school.”

Could her face be any redder? How could she be this mortified after what they’d just done?

“No! No, of course not, and it was...incredible. I, well, I’d heard rumours about the first time, that it’s painful or uncomfortable for a girl. Woman. A witch. But this was  _ so _ much more, so much  _ better _ than I ever could have anticipated,” she admitted truthfully.

He smirked. “I should hope so. I’m hardly an inept, fumbling teenage wizard. There will not be any pain next time.”

She nodded against his shoulder in acknowledgement, happy at the idea of a ‘next time’ and future encounters with him. They rested in silence for a time, Hermione curled beside him.

He reached up with his left hand to brush his long hair away from his face, and Hermione was suddenly and unexpectedly up close and personal with the dark mark on the inside of his forearm. She reflexively jerked back from the visible reminder of his forced allegiance, and Lucius startled at her movement. 

“What…” his voice trailed off when he realized what she was looking at.

“I...I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It took me by surprise. I didn’t notice it before when we were… you know. I’ve just never actually seen the dark mark on someone.”

He sighed. “I suppose I should be thankful you were sufficiently distracted before. I  can glamour it.”

She would have preferred that he conceal it with a glamour, but she did not want to insult him. If it bothered her to see it, how must he feel looking at it daily, knowing it had been forced upon him? No, she decided, she would not ask that of him.

“No. No, it’s okay.”

He pulled her closer, back into his embrace. “I did not mean to startle you.”

She reached out as if to touch his arm but then stopped. “May I?” she asked, looking up at him for permission.

“I’d rather you not. It…” he hesitated for a moment. “This is not...I did not want this.”

He seemed almost vulnerable, and her heart went out to him. “Oh Lucius, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He kissed her forehead. “Let us not speak of it again.”

He released her long enough to reach for a small pink phial in the bureau beside the bed.

“Take this,” he said as he handed it to her.

“What is it?”

“Contraceptive potion.”

She blushed. God, what kind of pathetic novice was she to not even think about contraception? Pregnancy was the absolute last thing either one of them needed, and here she was basking in the aftermath of her first time without even thinking about the risk she’d just taken. Where was her head? It was so utterly unlike her to not plan ahead better.

“I did not want to presume that you were unprepared, but that you did not recoginse the potion indicates I was correct in my assumption,” he said.

She took it from him and drank it quickly, grimacing at the taste. “I’m sorry. I did not even think…”

He took the phial back from her and set it aside before gathering her back in his arms. “Do not worry about it,” he said dismissively. “That will last some months, and I will ensure that you have it when you need it.”

She thanked him and drifted off into silence, unsure of what to do or say next.

“Tell me,” he said somewhat abruptly, “how your school term is going.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

“Oh, um. It’s good, I suppose. I mean, it’s infinitely better without Umbridge there.”

“I do not doubt that.”

“Professor Snape is teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he, well, he seems to just really hate everyone in Gryffindor, so it’s never fun for me to be in his class, but I do learn a great deal,” she said carefully, aware that Lucius was friends with the dour former potions professor.

“Yes, Severus is rather hostile at times,” he acknowledged. “And Slughorn? What do you think about him?”

“He’s...ugh. He’s a bit of a sycophant, honestly. He’s convinced Harry is a potions prodigy, which is honestly just absurd. Draco and I are both better at potions than Harry is, but Professor Slughorn acts as if he hung the moon.” Her frustration at Harry’s use of the mysterious potions workbook spilled over into her conversation with Lucius.

“Slughorn will cultivate a friendship with anyone he deems politically astute or well connected. He’s Dumbledore’s man through and through,” Lucius said. “If you perform well academically, he’ll probably invite you to his “Slug Club,” until he figures out that you’re muggleborn and have no magical family he can leach onto.”

“Someone said he’d been head of Slytherin house?”

“Yes, he was when I was a student. I was invited to his little club because he knew my father, Abraxas. On his own, Slughorn is an annoyance but harmless. You must assume though that anything he sees or hears he is apt to share with Dumbledore, either to curry favour or because Dumbledore sees it through legilimency.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “That’s very good to know. Thank you for the warning.”

“Speaking of the old coot, has he attempted to breach your mind thus far this year?” Lucius asked as he leisurely trailed his fingers up and down her spine.

“He’s not asked me to meet with him at all, and I’ve not made eye contact with him when we’re in the Great Hall at mealtime,” she admitted. “There’s something though…”

He lifted his head. “What is it?”

“He...I was trying to look attentive during his welcome speech but not make eye contact with him, and I noticed that one sleeve of his robes was longer than the other, covering most of his hand,” she said. “I thought it odd, especially when it continued each day. He’s been cursed, Lucius!”

Her lover stiffened and then sat up in bed, releasing her. He looked down at her in surprise. “How can you be sure?”

“I finally saw his hand, and it’s...it’s almost  _ dead _ ! It’s blackened and charred and shriveled, the way Egyptian mummies look,” she said. “It has to be some sort of dark curse!”

He was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating what she’d just shared.

“Yes, it likely is a dark curse, although I have not heard of the Dark Lord ordering such a thing. It would be most difficult for any of us to even get close enough to the headmaster to do it. If it’s just his hand, then he may have been poisoned by contact. Or perhaps he touched a cursed object, although you’d think he’d know better.”

“Do you think it’s something deadly?” she asked timidly. Since he breached her mind after the incident in the Department of Mysteries, she’d lost faith in their headmaster and no longer trusted him, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead.

“The darkest of curses usually are. He may be able to hold it at bay with a specialised stasis spell or a potion of some sort, but if his hand is as damaged as you say it is, it may be incurable. Without knowing what caused it, it’s hard to say.”

He smiled down at her then and reached toward her, pulling down the blanket she’d held to her chest. She drew in a shaky breath as his eyes traveled over her bared breasts.

“Enough about Dumbledore. I have limited time with you, and I’m not finished with you yet,” he said lasciviously.

He made love to her again, gently, making her body shatter under the exquisite ministrations of his sinful hands and leaving her breathless with delight. 

Later they sat together in front of the fireplace, naked underneath soft plaid blankets, and enjoyed a light meal as Lucius asked her more about her education, her career interests, and her progress with the spells he was teaching her. It was easily the best birthday she’d ever had, and she could not imagine a better  entrée into magical adulthood than spending the day with Lucius Malfoy. He’d not only brought her body to euphoric highs she’d only dreamed possible, he’d talked with her in such a way that she felt desired and important. He wasn’t a professor lecturing to her or an adult scolding her. He asked her opinions. He valued her insight. No one had ever treated her like this, made her feel like this.

She stayed with him as long as he would allow it, until he conceded that she must return to Hogwarts before her friends returned from Hogsmeade and discovered her missing. He apparated her back, popping them into the Forbidden Forest, just on the edge of the school’s property and protective wards, grumbling about the absurdity of denying older students apparition lessons until the spring of their 6th year. It was yet another critique of education under Dumbledore that she’d not stopped to consider, but she had to admit now that not being able to obtain an apparition license until spring was a hindrance and wholly unfair, given that she was of age already.

She managed to slip back into her dorm and into her more mundane weekend attire before Harry, Ron, and Ginny returned, bringing with them a host of chocolate frogs, sugar quills, books, and other birthday treats. The boys did not notice the shiny new bracelet adorning her wrist, but Ginny did and commented on it. Hermione smiled and explained it was a gift from her parents and had arrived by owl delivery that very afternoon while they were gone. Ginny alone seemed doubtful, as the obvious lack of a clasp on the bracelet indicated it was a magical item, but Hermione shrugged it off, saying that her mother had gone shopping with her in Diagon Alley before the start of school and had obviously either purchased it then or placed an order for it while she was busy browsing in the bookstore.

Harry and Ron teased her then about her tendency to get lost in her books. That was how they saw her, she realised. The bookworm. The studious one. They did not see her as a young woman or even as a _ girl _ . She was just a bookworm. After the secluded and seductive afternoon she’d spent with Lucius, lounging in the common room with her friends and sucking on a sugar quill while everyone talked and laughed about quidditch and chess and mocked her love of books and research seemed infantile. She felt somehow  _ above _ all of this now.

That night with the curtains drawn around her bed, Hermione used her wand to test the bracelet. She debated what to say for an embarrassing amount of time before finally sending a simple message.

_ Thank you again for everything.  _

Seconds passed. Then minutes. She stared at the bracelet, barely blinking. 

God, this is pathetic, she thought to herself. She was no better than a muggle teenage girl waiting by the phone for a boy to call her back. She settled into the bed, keeping an eye on her wrist as she mentally replayed her day with Lucius. 

She was unsure how much time passed before the charmed metal warmed her skin. 

_ You’re most welcome. Expect owl order with books soon. Be good. _

She grinned at the response. Be good. She could practically hear the words slipping from his sinful lips. It hit her then that she was more excited by the idea of Lucius whispering in her ear than she was by the idea of new books. What a drastic change in mindset! She had to stifle a giggle at the thought that the consummate bookworm had been so quickly turned from books to pleasure. 

Her body was deliciously sore from her day with Lucius, but she could not recall when she’d last been so happy. She could only pray that it lasted. 

 

~oOo~

 

True to his word, an owl order arrived for her a few days later. As the weeks passed, Lucius continued to send books to her. How he managed to slip books about darker magics past the wards at Hogwarts was beyond her, but she was grateful he did. She hated lying to Harry, but she couldn’t very well tell him she was receiving private tutoring from Lucius Malfoy, so instead she claimed she’d begun purchasing books she thought might be helpful to him but were unavailable at school. 

He’d accepted this explanation and agreed to meet privately with her in the Room of Requirement to try some of the spells and techniques in a few of her new books, spells that he could then teach to other members of the DA. She’d had to be selective about what she shared with him for fear of Dumbledore finding out, which made it all that much more complicated. A few times Harry questioned her about these mysterious books, but as soon as she brought up his continued use of the Half-Blood Prince’s potions book, Harry backed off. It was a somewhat uncomfortable detente. 

Every time she opened a copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ to read about another Death Eater attack, every time a student burst into tears after receiving a letter from home telling of a friend, a relative captured or killed by Voldemort’s followers, her heart twisted painfully. She felt as if she was being pulled in two separate directions by invisible but powerful forces.

Voldemort’s world, the world He wanted to create, had no place for wizards and witches like her. She wanted to trust that Lucius would protect her, but what if he couldn’t? What if he had to choose between her and Draco? She could never ask him to abandon his child, not when Draco appeared to be his  _ raison d’etre _ . She NEEDED Harry to win. Harry had to win. Her life might literally depend on it, and if one believed the prophecy, then Harry’s life depended on it as well.

But every Death Eater captured could be Lucius. Every Death Eater killed could be Lucius. If the Ministry held on, if the Order prevailed, would Lucius survive until the end? Would Draco? Would she? If Lucius did survive, was he right that he was likely doomed to a dementor’s kiss or life in Azkaban? She wanted to believe that her love and her words and her ability to stand up for him and tell the world how he’d helped her - and indirectly Harry as well - would be enough, but she knew they lived in a world where Sirius Black could be sentenced to life in Azkaban for a crime he didn’t commit, sentenced without even the benefit of a trial. What could she, one young witch, possibly do to save the man she loved, when she was so busy also trying to save Harry?

Harry.

Dear, sweet Harry who had lost so much in his short life. Harry who clung to Sirius because his godfather was all he had left, even as he ignored the way Sirius treated him less like a parent and more like a friend, like he really was James reincarnated. Harry who wanted desperately to believe that Dumbledore hadn’t kept the prophecy from him for some nefarious purpose, who wanted to believe that their headmaster was a good, honest wizard who would never steer them wrong.

Was Harry destined to die? Or to live? And if he lived, would that condemn Lucius to death? 

God help her if she had to choose.


	14. Sixth Year, Part 5, 1996

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d hoped to get this posted over the weekend, but real life got in the way, and then I wasn’t happy with this chapter and ended up doing more editing than planned. I’m writing well into 7th year now, and I’m struggling to get through some pivotal chapters. I’m really trying to stay ahead of myself so I don’t have to make you lovely people wait too long for updates, but please know that we may end up shifting to once a week updates at some point. I hope the ‘citrusy’ content in this chapter makes up for the brief delay.   
> As always, I love to hear your thoughts about Lucius, Hermione, and their relationship. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle

Sixth year, Part 5, 1996

 

They lived in a world at the precipice. At any second it felt as if life as she knew it would be flung from the edge of the knife. It was an exhausting way to live, scouring the papers daily for news, resisting the urge to use her bracelet to call Lucius or to simply portkey herself straight to their private haven, just to reassure herself that he was still alive and well.

And yet somehow, life went on. Ron made Gryffindor’s quidditch team, thanks to an ickle bitty _confundus_ charm on Cormac MacLaggen, not that she’d ever admit to it. Ron, flush with new-found confidence from his role on the team, began seeing Hermione’s roommate, Lavender Brown. Personally she couldn’t see what Ron saw in the giggly, insipid blonde witch who nauseatingly called him her “Won-Won.” In comparison, Hermione thought that Lucius’s moniker of “pet” for her was absurdly classy and understated. Quidditch matches and school rivalries went on, and young witches threw themselves at “the Chosen One,” which frankly was going to Harry’s head.

Classes continued, and Harry continued to use that insufferable “Half-Blood Prince’s” potions book, which in Hermione’s mind absolutely constituted cheating. Professor Slughorn was enamoured with Harry’s supposed potions skills, and Hermione found the entire situation utterly unfair, as she and Draco both had bested Harry in potions for years now.

It was surreal to think about being caught up in the petty dramas of childhood and school, knowing what surely lay ahead for them all.

She wanted to see Lucius every time the students had a Hogsmeade weekend, but it wasn’t feasible to feign illness every month. Harry and Ron may have been clueless at times, but even they’d notice if she missed every trip into the village. And really, with war looming, it made sense to spend time with Harry and Ron when she could. Above all, Lucius needed her to be discreet about their involvement, and raising suspicion with her friends would be unwise.

For a tense three weeks in late autumn, she did not hear from Lucius, either via bracelet or owl. Nothing seemed amiss with his son, so Hermione assumed he was alive and well. Still, she missed him terribly. She’d become accustomed to the occasional brief message late at night on her wrist, and the absence of them was distressing. Thus she was rather surprised to walk into the Three Broomsticks one early November afternoon to see her lover seated in a booth with Professor Snape and Draco. They appeared to be deep in conversation, Lucius looked oddly controlled, and Professor Snape’s expression was stern. Draco looked…nervous. She frowned when she realised she could not hear them, a silencing spell obviously in use.

She knew it would be inappropriate to react to their presence, so she forced herself to focus on her friends as she seated herself and reached for a butterbeer. Quidditch was unfortunately the topic of conversation until Harry looked up and realised that Malfoy and his father were engaged in deep conversation with Professor Snape.

“I’m telling you, Malfoy’s a Death Eater,” Harry said with a scowl.

“Yeah, we know. It’s bollocks the Ministry won’t do anything about it,” Ron said through a large bite of treacle tart. It was obvious Ron had heard Harry’s rants about Lucius repeatedly in the months since the break-in in the Department of Mysterious.

“Not him. Malfoy Jr.,” Harry said.

Hermione followed Harry’s gaze and frowned. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just because his father is a Death Eater doesn’t mean he is too,” she pointed out.

“’Course it does!” Ron exclaimed. “They’re a DARK family. All those families – Malfoy, Rosier, Lestrange, Yaxley – they’re all supporters of old Voldy.”

“And Black?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

Ron’s eyes cut to the Malfoys and then back to Harry and Hermione.

“That’s not a fair comparison. Everyone knows Sirius opposed Voldemort from the start,” Ron hissed.

“So what? You think Malfoy Jr. is some light wizard? Come on, Hermione, even you have to admit that’s far-fetched!” Harry shot back.

“Well, no. I mean, we know he’s not a light wizard, but he’s not his father, any more than Sirius is HIS father. Isn’t Dumbledore always talking about how we’re defined by the choices we make?”

“Thus far I’ve yet to see him make any choices that make him look like anything other than a big prat,” Ginny observed.

Well, that was… that was honestly a fair point, Hermione conceded to herself. Draco wasn’t exactly the nicest of people. She really wasn’t even sure why she felt compelled to defend him. She certainly didn’t _like_ him.

“Okay, so maybe he’s not a Death Eater YET, but it’s probably some Death Eater recruiting meeting,” Ron said sourly.

Hermione glanced over at them again and frowned. “With Professor Snape?”

Harry shot her a dirty look and cut his eyes to Lavender. Hermione sighed. Ron’s girlfriend was not part of the Order and likely did not know that their professor was a spy for Dumbledore.

Ginny changed the subject then, thankfully, and Hermione did her best to pay attention to the conversation whilst still watching the Malfoys and Professor Snape. Draco looked unhappy and then angry until he finally stomped off, and their meeting broke up. Hermione tried to extricate herself from the conversation and lunch, desperately hoping to see Lucius before he left.

Fortunately none of her friends wanted to spend their afternoon browsing Tomes & Scrolls bookstore, so she was able to dart away. She looked quickly up and down the main street in Hogsmeade, looking for a distinctive white blond head of hair. To her immense dismay, she did not see him. She heaved a sigh and decided she might as well go to the bookstore in case her friends came looking for her.

As she passed a narrow, dark alley, a gloved hand grabbed her, jerking her from the street. Hermione gasped in panic and reached for her wand, immediately casting a hex at her assailant, who anticipated the move and blocked it.

“Hush, pet,” a familiar voice hissed.

“Lucius!” she gasped. She was pleasantly surprised that he’d found a way to see her, and she delighted in his presence. The smell of his cologne was intoxicating, and his presence was so commanding. Her memories of time spent with him were nothing compared to being near him again in the flesh.

He smirked at her and pulled her further into the alley.

“How fortuitous that I should find you today, although I thought you’d be better prepared for the possibility of an attack.”

“I cast a hex! And you could have sent me a message,” she huffed.

“If it was a real attack, I could have apparated you away before you fired off a second hex. You know better. As for a message, I was unsure I’d be able to see you.”

He held onto her upper arm with a firm grip as he walked them further into the alley. 

“What was that, back at the Three Broomsticks?” she asked.

“Excuse me?”

“What was going on with Draco?”

The alley came to a dimly lit dead end, and Lucius stopped abruptly, turning her and shoving her back against the brick wall.

“Later,” he hissed just before his lips crashed down on hers.

She was surprised by the sudden sexual overture, particularly given their semi-public location, but she wasn’t about to stop him. She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, realising quickly that whatever had transpired with his son had left Lucius angry, and that he appeared to want to use her as a means of stress relief.

He shoved her school robes off her shoulders and ripped her blouse open, sending buttons scattering into the alley.

“Lucius!” she gasped.

“I’ll fix it. Hush.”

His mouth was on her neck then, biting her hard enough to make her wince. The sensation of pain though merged with the pleasurable sensation of his fingers slipping into the cups of her bra to tease her nipples. She’d never known pain could feel this exquisite.

He hiked one of her legs to his hip, and she wrapped it around him, allowing him to ground his growing erection into her knickers.

“Lucius, take me to the lodge,” she whispered.

“Shh…”

His fingers slipped into the soft cotton of her knickers and stroked her intimately, making her writhe in his hold.  

“Someone will see!” she hissed frantically. She didn’t want him to stop, but she also didn’t want to get caught _en flagrante delicto_ with Lucius Malfoy in the middle of an alley in Hogsmeade either.

“Then you’d better be quiet, and let’s be quick before we’re spotted,” he murmured into her neck as he thrust two fingers into her. “Mmm...so wet already. Does it turn you on to be manhandled in public, pet?”

Her face burned in shame. She was indeed turned on, but she told herself it was less about the location - which was terrifying - and more about the man.

“I don’t want to get caught,” she whispered, arching her back against the wall and rolling her hips to the thrust of his fingers.

“We won’t be.”

With his free hand, he tugged at the lace of her bra, ripping it in his haste to expose her breasts. Before she could object, he bent his head to take her nipple between his teeth.

“Ahhh… oh god. Lucius!”

She clung to him, fingers winding in his hair, body writhing against his as he quickly and skillfully brought her to a powerful orgasm. He gave her no rest, no chance to catch her breath, withdrawing his fingers and spinning her around. Hermione quickly threw up her hands to brace herself on the stone wall.

“Need to be inside you now,” he grunted, fumbling with his trousers.

“Yes, please!”

“That’s it, beg me for it, pet.”

“Please Lucius!”

She shivered as he tugged her knickers down her legs and flipped up her skirt, baring her arse to anyone who might wander down the alley.

“Say you need to be fucked,” he whispered harshly, his breath hot on her ear.

She could feel him behind her, feel the warmth of his body, and oh god, feel the head of his cock brush against the back of her upper thigh. He gripped a handful of her hair, pulling her head back and making her arch her back and whimper.

“Say it!”

“I...I need to be fucked,” she whispered, her face burning in mortification at the words, despite the truth behind them.

He pushed into her smoothly, groaning at the sensation.

“Good girl. Fuck, you’re so wet, so tight.”

There was nowhere for her to go, no way for her to move, as he had her pressed tightly between the wall and his body, his grip on her hip and her hair so harsh it was almost painful. She relaxed into his hold and moaned at the feel of him stretching her, filling her.

After that, there was no calculation, no rhyme or reason. Just passion and sensation and the hard thrust of his cock and the feel of his breath on her ear, her throat. Just the sound of her quiet whimpers and his grunts and the feel of his belt slapping against her thigh and her fingernails digging into the stone as she held on.

She’d seen enough muggle films and books to know that some people liked rough sex, but she’d not envisioned herself partaking of it and actually enjoying it until this moment. Lucius played her body like a finely tuned violin, countering bites on her neck, her shoulder, with the angle of his hips so his cock hit a spot inside of her that made her see stars. She pushed her arse back into him, begging for more.

“Yes, you like it don’t you? Being taken against the wall like a common whore? Your pussy is dripping, pet.” The crude words made her face redden in mortification, even as she recognised the truth in them. She _did_ like the way he touched her. She loved that he knew how to make her feel so many sensations all at once.

He slid his hand around her hip and in between her legs, making her cry out when his fingers found her clit.

“Shhh...I’ll have to silence you if you can’t be quiet,” he warned.

She heard his words, but the delicious torture of his cock and his fingers was too much, and it was impossible to hold back her moans. She half-expected him to withdraw his wand and cast a _silencio_ over her, but to her surprise, he released his grip on her hair and brought his hand to her mouth, covering her lips at first and then pressing two fingers all the way into her mouth. She whimpered in embarrassment when she tasted herself on his fingers.

“Little witches who can’t be quiet need to be gagged.” His words were punctuated with a nip on her earlobe, which only made her arch into him more, her body deliciously tormented by his every move.

She was held in thrall, unable to move, unable to speak and perilously close to orgasm. She just needed a little bit more. Emboldened by the depravity of their coupling, she sucked on the fingers he’d forced into her mouth.

“Yes, that’s it,” he groaned, his hips speeding up as he thrust harder, faster, his fingertips rubbing in little circles around her clit.

Her world exploded in a wash of sensation, a flash of colour behind her closed eyes. He came seconds later, a harsh “fuck” on his lips as he filled her with his come.

She panted against the wall, feeling utterly debauched and euphoric over what they’d just done. Lucius’s forehead rested on her shoulder as he caught his breath. Slowly, his fingers slipped from her mouth, trailing over her bottom lip, her chin, her throat.

“That was…” her voice was breathy and trailed off as she was unsure how to describe the intensity of this encounter. She was pretty sure her body was going to hurt tonight or in the morning, but she didn’t want to tell Lucius that.

“That was exactly what I needed,” he said quietly.

She felt bereft as he moved away from her then, and a little bit chilled before he pulled up her knickers and smoothed the hem of her skirt over the curve of her arse. She turned around and tried to cover her breasts with her ripped blouse. Lucius ignored her as he tucked himself back into his trousers and righted his own clothes. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly feeling awkward - and sticky.

“Allow me to repair your clothing,” he said as he withdrew his wand. She watched in silence as buttons flew to her blouse and stuck themselves back into place and the lace of her bra cup knitted itself back together. She gratefully buttoned her blouse then and made herself presentable.

She thought that perhaps she’d concealed her shock over what had just transpired between them, but she was clearly mistaken when he spoke up.

“I’ve overwhelmed you. I did not mean...are you well? Did I hurt you?” he asked in a more conciliatory tone.

In truth, she figured she would be sore, but for reasons she did not fully understand, she shook her head in the negative.

His lips twisted in a bit of a smile then, and he smoothed her hair with his hand.

“Good. I must apologise for taking you so roughly, but I was...I _am_ dealing with a most difficult situation, and I should not have taken my anger out on you.” His words and posture were stiff, formal.

“Are _you_ okay?” she asked carefully.

He ran his fingers through his long blond hair and sighed. “No. The Dark Lord...the Dark Lord has chosen to bestow what He believes is a great honour upon me.”

Hermione blanched. She could only imagine what Voldemort considered an ‘honour.’

“He wishes to offer my son a place among His chosen.”

“But, but Draco is only-”

“He is still a child. He will not be of age until June. In the past, the Dark Lord would have His Death Eaters prove themselves worthy of a place in His circle, to prove their skill and devotion. This was offered to a select few wizards once they came of age, and only if He deemed them worthy could they be marked,” he spat.

Hermione shivered. Lucius’s anger was intimidating, and she was worried for her lover.

“He wants my son. He wants MY SON!” His voice was raised enough that Hermione was fearful others would hear them or stumble upon them, so she reached for her own wand and cast a _muffliato_ and a notice-me-not charm. It was a pity she’d not had her wits about her enough to cast the spells before, she noted silently.

Lucius, sensing that he was now free to express his anger, wandlessly and wordlessly exploded an empty barrel behind him and then knitted it back together. Magical energy still radiated from him, and she watched in silence as he repeated this explosion and repair several more times. She waited until he had calmed somewhat before speaking.

“Can you send Draco away? Transfer him to another school perhaps, and keep him from harm’s way until the war was over?” She knew she would never abandon Harry - or Lucius - but she thought Draco likely had no such qualms.

“No, I cannot. It would be foolhardy to anger Him that way. Such an act would risk my own life, and I cannot protect my son if I am not here.” His shoulder slumped at this admission, and Hermione felt her own sense of rage at the idea that Voldemort had made this proud, brilliant, talented wizard feel so impotent.

“You have until June though, right? To help him prepare for what is to come? Or to come up with some other sort of plan?” she offered.

He shook his head, and she was struck at how weary he suddenly looked.

“He means to mark Draco on his 17th birthday.”

She looked on in horror before she thought back to the scene she’d witnessed at the Three Broomsticks.

“Draco has already been asked to prove himself in some way, hasn’t he?” she asked in a whisper.

Lucius looked away. “Yes. The Dark Lord views it as a ‘reward’ to me for my ‘faithful service,’” he said with a bitter laugh. “He considers it a high honor to induct one so young, to offer a barely adult wizard a place in His inner circle. He has laid claim to my entire bloodline, it seems. My father. Me. My only son and heir.”

For a moment, Hermione allowed her mind to wander, to think about a world where Voldemort reigned supreme and could compel his followers to turn over their children to His service, a world where Draco would know from his own son’s birth that his child was destined to serve a madman. She could only imagine the sort of agony Lucius was in.

“How does one prove oneself to V- the Dark Lord?” she asked carefully, almost afraid of the answer.

“Draco has been given a task. Please do not ask me for details - I was forced to take a vow of secrecy.”

He grimaced at this, and Hermione didn’t blame him. Magical oaths and vows could backfire on a person in horrible ways if magic deemed you in violation of your promise.

“If I could do it for him, Merlin, if I could prevent the inevitable, if I could spare him everything I have had to do, I would.” He looked away from her then and took a deep breath to regain his composure.

“He...he isn’t going to have to kill anyone, is he?” she whispered. On the one hand, she really had a hard time seeing Draco as a killer. He was a bully sure, and a right git most of the time, but it was almost all talk from him. On the other hand, if he was seriously planning to murder someone, she did not have it in her to just sit back and let someone die.

“No, not for this. Once he is marked though, I will have to do what I can to prevent him from being sent on any missions for the Dark Lord. If I can shepherd my son safely through the summer, the threats to his safety at school next year may be reduced.”

“What about Dumbledore? About his skills as a legilimens?”

Lucius smiled wryly. “I would not leave my son’s mind unprotected, pet. He’s received occulumency lessons for many years and is good at closing off his mind.”

He heaved a heavy sigh. “I do not know if there are others in Draco’s year or the year above him though who have also been given a task by the Dark Lord. It would not be unheard of for Him to use a student as a spy, to test the loyalty of those who would seek to serve Him.”

Hermione wanted to comfort him in some way, but she was unsure what she could do or say.

“You are in most of Draco’s classes, are you not?” Lucius asked.

“Yes, most.”

“You must watch over him for me.”

Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise at his request. “It’s true that we have similar schedules, but we live on opposite sides of the castle, and he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

He rubbed at his face in frustration. “I know. I know this. Do what you can, pet. Do it for me. It would make me feel so much better to know that there’s someone in that castle I trust, someone who is also looking out for Draco. I know you cannot be everywhere, but if there is a way you can protect my son, I want you to do it. He’s my _child_.”

In that moment, an image flashed in Hermione’s mind of Lucius cradling a tiny baby with a smattering of blond hair and fair skin like his own. His obvious love for his son twisted Hermione’s heart. She already adored the handsome wizard before her, but picturing him with a baby, as a devoted father, made her love him even more.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it for you,” she promised.


	15. Sixth Year, Part 6, 1996-1997

###  Sixth Year, Part 6, 1996-1997

 

She’d promised Lucius that she’d do what she could to protect Draco, but it was admittedly not an easy task. Harry was convinced that the younger Malfoy was a Death Eater already, and in his limited free time between classes, quidditch, and meetings with Dumbledore, he had a tendency to stalk Draco’s movements using the Marauders’ Map. This meant that Hermione could not easily approach Malfoy herself for fear of both Draco’s reaction and of the possibility that Harry would see it on the map. 

Lucius had not given her permission to speak openly with his son either, so she did not feel she could come right out and offer assistance of some kind. She was also unsure just how she was supposed to protect Draco and from whom. He lived on the opposite end of the castle, and she had no way to enter Slytherin’s common room or dorms. She did not play quidditch, so it wasn’t as if she’d be on a broom nearby during the games lest anyone attack him with a rogue bludger. They did share some classes, and she made an attempt to sit close enough to him that she could hopefully cast a shield his direction if needed but far enough away that she did not arouse any suspicion. 

Did Draco know she’d been assigned his protector and ally? Did he know that she was involved with his father? It seemed very unlikely that Lucius would confide such a thing in his son, as he’d made it clear that even though she and Draco were in the same year at school, he viewed her as an adult and Draco as still a child. Given what she knew of Draco’s personality, she was inclined to agree with that assessment. Since her impromptu meeting with Lucius in the alley in Hogsmeade, Draco had seemed angrier than usual. He still picked fights with Gryffindors and was an arrogant arse, but there was something not quite right about him. She could only assume that the weight of the Dark Lord’s mysterious task rested heavily on his shoulders.

She knew from the Marauders’ Map that Malfoy spent a surprising amount of time in a back corner of the library, so she’d made a few subtle attempts to look in on him there. He was often there alone on the map, but every time she tried to discreetly wander past him, he was with Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, or Parkinson, and there was nothing unusual about the stacks of books and parchments spread out on their table. 

As the winter hols drew near, she’d resigned herself to the idea that she would have to continue to watch Malfoy from afar as discreetly as possible because she honestly wasn’t sure what else she could do at this point. She hoped she’d have an opportunity to question Lucius further about the task and Draco’s safety whilst away from school. As it turned out, it was another member of the Malfoy family who dominated her next real conversation with Lucius.

 

~oOo~

 

Since her meeting with Lucius in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her 5th year, Hermione had deliberately ignored the existence of one Narcissa Malfoy. She knew, of course, that her lover was married. She’d seen his wife in various newspaper clippings over the years and in person at the Quidditch World Cup. She remained convinced that they weren’t truly in love, based on his reaction to the Bulgarian team’s veela mascots, but she was unsure just what Narcissa meant to him. She supposed it was a subject she really ought to have discussed with him _ before  _ sleeping with him, but she’d been nervous and was unsure how to bring it up. 

All throughout the summer and autumn of 1996, the existence of his wife ate at Hermione’s conscience. Her parents were not overly religious, so she didn’t necessarily think she was condemned to any sort of hell for what she’d done - she’d just never thought she’d willingly sleep with a married man. Did Narcissa know that her husband had slept with another woman, a muggleborn witch? If she knew, did she care? If Lucius had not been conscripted into the service of a madman, would he be as insistent on discretion and secrecy regarding their involvement? She thought perhaps he still would have been concerned about discretion, although the risks to them both would have been less dire. 

She was beyond relieved - and ecstatic - when Lucius finally messaged her in December to arrange a meeting over Yule break. After an enthusiastic and amorous reunion at the lodge in Scotland, she found herself curled up beside him in front of a roaring fire. He seemed relaxed and in a good enough mood that she finally dared to bring up the elephant in the room.

“I...well, I don’t mean to pry, but given all of  _ this _ -” she gestured between them, “I mean, you are  _ married _ …”

“Yes. I am. Was there a question involved?” His voice was succinct, emotionless.

“Are you terribly unhappy then, with your wife?” she asked in a hushed voice. 

He looked very serious for a long moment, and Hermione wondered if he would be angry with her for daring to ask the question. 

“No, pet, I am not happy in my marriage. I haven’t been in a long time, if ever,” he admitted, looking into the flames instead of at her.

She waited, hoping he would say more. When he did not, she decided to use some of that infamous Gryffindor bravery and ask again.

“Will you tell me about it?”

He looked almost surprised at her question, but not angry. He flicked a lock of long pale blond hair out of his face and sighed. 

“If I must.”

“Yes, you must,” she prodded eagerly, happy he was willing to speak openly about this subject.

“Like many traditional pureblood families, my parents expected me to take a wife at a young age. It was not uncommon in my youth for students to finish their education at Hogwarts already betrothed. Marriages did not usually occur until after graduation. There were, undoubtedly, some couples who made love matches, or as in love as you believe you can be at 17 or 18, but most of us, especially in Slytherin, had engagements arranged or heavily influenced by our parents,” he said.

“Yours was arranged?” she guessed.

“Yes, but you’re getting ahead of my story, pet. Hush now,” he said, punctuating his words with a light slap to her bare thigh.

Her eyes widened and a blush spread across her cheeks.

“Before my sixth year, my parents - my father mostly - provided a list of young pureblood witches they deemed acceptable. All were within a few years of me in school, either older or younger. There were a handful of French witches from Beauxbatons, children of my parents’ friends and associates, as well. One witch in particular stood out for me. I believe you’ve met her: Andromeda Black.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock.  _ Andromeda? _ Andromeda Tonks, who had famously been blasted from the Black family tree for the sin of marrying a muggleborn? THAT was who stood out to Lucius? She could hardly believe it. She’d met Mrs. Tonks briefly when she’d visited Grimmauld Place to speak to Sirius about something. The witch was frighteningly similar in appearance to her sister Bellatrix Lestrange, but her features were softer, her eyes kinder. She wasn’t as strikingly beautiful as Narcissa, but she was rather lovely in her own right. 

“You wanted Andromeda? Why?” she couldn’t help but ask, even if it meant upsetting Lucius.

“She was...Andy was special,” he said. He had a far off look on his face that made Hermione uncomfortable and a tiny bit jealous. 

“Andromeda was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts, and she was a remarkable witch. She had none of Bellatrix’s sadistic urges or madness, some of which were apparent even in childhood. She was her sister’s polar opposite. She was kind and thoughtful, always happy to help the younger students with their essays and revisions. The younger students looked up to her. She was a Slytherin prefect, and she took her schoolwork very seriously.”

He paused for a moment. “You have to understand that for a pureblood witch from an ancient and noble family, working outside the home after marriage was far from a given. Most were expected to keep house, raise an heir, and work to further the family’s social standing, so as a result many witches underperformed in school because to them it didn’t matter once they were betrothed. Andy was not like that. She was a good student. I… I respected her intelligence. I could not have selected a better wife for the House of Malfoy.”

“Because of her intelligence?”

“Yes, that, and of course her standing in an ancient and noble house, which was a requirement for my father. Beyond that, she was cunning and ambitious as any good Slytherin must be, but she was also intelligent, warm, and thoughtful. She was a ray of sunlight in the dungeons. I thought that I would have an ally in her, that she would be the type of witch who would work to further our family’s businesses and investments and social standing but also be a loving wife and mother. She was the sort of person I thought I would enjoy having as a spouse.”

“Did you love her?” Hermione asked meekly. She truly did not want to hear how much Lucius had loved another. Just thinking about it was a stab to her heart, but she needed to know. 

“At that age, I do not know if I truly could have claimed to be in love, but I could have grown to love her. I am certain of that,” he admitted. “It would not have been hard. Nearly everyone adored Andy.”

“Did she know how you felt about her?” 

“Not at first. As I said, she was kind to everyone, and we were friends, I suppose. Not as close as I would like, but then, she was a year older than I. I saw her age as a benefit, by the way. It gave her the added maturity she would need to be Lady Malfoy. And if I am being brutally honest, I thought her age and personality would be well suited for me. As you may have noticed, I am a demanding and exacting man, with high standards, and can admit that I am not the easiest person to live with.”

Hermione said nothing, for this was indeed all true. 

“Before the end of my sixth year, I told my father I wanted Andromeda Black, that I would marry her as soon as I graduated. He was pleased with my choice, and you must understand that very little pleased my father. I made overtures to her before the end of the school term, traditional courting gifts, you see. My affections took her by surprise, but I did not think my efforts unwelcome. She was very gracious.”

Hermione was on the edge of her seat, listening with rapt attention. 

“My father contacted hers, and they spent months negotiating the bride price and the particulars of the betrothal contract. Bellatrix had just married, you see, and now that his most difficult child was out of his house, he could not try to pawn her off on unsuspecting suitors. It made his remaining two daughters more valuable.”

“How so?” Hermione was perplexed by the intricacies of pureblood courtships and arranged marriage.

“Betrothals are often less about the suitability of two people and more about the joining of two families. If the patriarchs of the Houses of Malfoy and Black wanted to join their children, it didn’t really matter which children, as long as there was a male and a female of childbearing age,” he explained with surprising patience. “Before Bellatrix was betrothed and wed, anyone approaching the Black family about a daughter would be presented with Bellatrix first, even though her mental instability made her the least desirable.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. With Bellatrix out of the way, their father had many additional suitors vying for Andromeda and Narcissa. What should have been a straightforward process took months. They finally reached an agreement, and we were all to sign the betrothal paperwork and celebrate the engagement when I was home for Yule break, with the wedding to take place after my graduation. Shortly before I returned home, Andromeda ran away with a mud-muggleborn from her year.”

Hermione stared at her lover and realised with a start that he was still somewhat bitter about the defection of the one he’d chosen as a wife. Never once in the time she’d been with Lucius had he ever referred to her as a mudblood, but she noted that he’d nearly used the slur in reference to Ted Tonks.

“You must have been devastated,” she whispered.

“I was  _ furious _ . By the time our families managed to locate her, they had already married and consummated the marriage. There was nothing I could do, short of killing him.”

“You… you didn’t try to kill him, did you?” She swallowed hard at the thought of this passionate wizard in such a rage over the loss of the witch he’d so adored. 

He looked at her in surprise before smirking. “I gave it serious and proper consideration, pet. The only reason I did not is because I knew Andy would never forgive me.”

“You loved her enough to let her go,” she whispered.

“A tragic defect in my character, I’m sure,” he sniffed, looking away again.

“No. No, don’t think that way. Your humanity is not a defect, Lucius.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Regardless, with Andromeda unavailable and blasted from the family tree and months of negotiation wasted, our fathers were still in favor of a match, so Cygnus offered Narcissa instead.”

“And you agreed?” 

He shrugged. “I was admittedly rather despondent and sullen as only a spoiled, heartbroken teenage wizard can be. No one else came close to holding my attention as Andy had. Perhaps I caved to my parents’ pressure. Perhaps some part of me - not fully understanding the ramifications of my decision - thought a union with the Black family would cause further pain to Andromeda, a way to punish her for rejecting me. In any case, I did not strenuously object to a betrothal with Narcissa. She was a year behind me at Hogwarts, so I knew I had another year and a half before I’d be expected to marry her.”

“Did you care for Narcissa when you married her?” she asked.

He shrugged again. “Despite being in the same house at school, I did not often interact with her. Narcissa was intelligent, but not as open about it as Andy. She was, as I later learned, highly gifted in potions, but she had no interest in tutoring the younger students. There was not - is not - a lot in her nature that is nurturing.”

“How did she feel about marrying you?”

He offered a hint of a wistful smile in response. “She informed me during our betrothal that she would do her duty to her family, but that she was aware of my feelings for her blood traitor sister. She was… shall we say,  _ less than thrilled _ about being my wife.”

“That doesn’t seem like a great start to a marriage.”

“It was not. It was disheartening to go from what I thought would be a close partnership with a warm and compassionate witch who I knew I could love to a marriage with a cold and distant witch who resented the affection I held for her sister. The worst of it, I suppose, was knowing that the witch I adored so loathed the idea of marrying me that she would choose to betray her family, give up her inheritance, and flee to live in a hovel with a muggleborn.”

“Maybe she really loved him,” Hermione said softly. 

He glared at her then, but she refused to back down.

“Maybe in another universe, another life where she never met Ted Tonks, Andromeda would have married you and it would have been a happy marriage,” she offered. “Maybe it wasn’t about hating you or the idea of being married to you at all. Maybe she loved him and couldn’t imagine being without him, even if it cost her her family, her friends, her life as she knew it. People will go to great lengths, do crazy things for love.”

He studied her for a moment, as if looking at her for the first time. “I suppose you are right,” he finally allowed. 

“And you’ve never been happy with Narcissa?” she asked as she took his hand in hers, holding it gently in her lap.

He looked down at their joined hands before speaking. “We tolerate each other and have little in common beyond our surname and shared child. We produced an heir because it was expected of us, and we were fortunate that our firstborn was a son. She refused to consider having another child with me. I would have welcomed more - I certainly could provide for more - but it was not to be. Despite our general animosity, I do not doubt her love for Draco. He is the one thing we have in common, the one thing that means more to us than anything else in this world. But no, I would not say that we are or have been happy.”

He sounded resigned to a lifetime of unhappiness - assuming he survived the war - and it broke her heart.

“Can you...is divorce an option?” she asked hopefully.

He smiled sadly at her. “No pet, it is not. Divorce is a rather muggle concept, at least among the ancient and noble families. I doubt the Malfoy family’s binding ceremony can be undone by anything but death. We live our lives together in public but separate behind closed doors. As with my unwilling service to the Dark Lord, I do what I must to survive.”

Hermione took all of this in, and her heart twisted painfully for the handsome wizard before her. How tragic that he’d cared so for Andromeda, only to have her leave him for someone she truly loved. How heartbreaking that he’d never been happy in his marriage, that he’d been forced by family and duty to marry someone so cold! She’d thought his story of forced servitude to Voldemort was bad enough, but to know that he’d experienced such misery for so long on top of it was simply too much for her to bear.

She climbed into his lap then, straddling his legs and throwing her arms around him. 

“Oh Lucius!” she exclaimed, blinking back empathetic tears as she hugged him tightly. He returned her embrace, although he seemed confused by her emotional outburst. 

“What is it, love?” he asked as he stroked her tangle of curls.

“That’s so  _ sad _ ! You deserve to have some happiness in your life.”

His arms tightened around her then, and he spoke the words that meant more to her than he could possibly know. 

“I do, Hermione. I have you.”


	16. Sixth Year, Part 7, 1997

###  Sixth Year, Part 7, 1997

 

Her visit with Lucius over Yule break was particularly momentous to Hermione because for the first time, she was able to stay with him overnight. It had required a little white lie to her parents, of course, and she did feel a tiny bit guilty about that, but she quickly put those thoughts out of her mind. The deceit was worth it to spend so much time with Lucius.

They dined in the grand dining room that night in the lodge, which had enormous windows overlooking the grounds. The snow had started falling hours ago and continued through dinner, making Hermione feel as if she’d stepped into a giant snow globe. Dinner was an elegant affair, with the two of them seated at one end of an enormous table. As at Hogwarts, food magically appeared on the table, the work of the mysterious Mipsy she’d yet to meet. Over dinner she sipped red wine and talked extensively with Lucius about defensive magical theory. It was such a change from the chaos of meals in the Great Hall or at the Burrow, and she felt very mature and sophisticated with him. 

After dinner, he took her to the library - which was apparently smaller than that of Malfoy Manor’s but still glorious - and permitted her to browse the collection at her leisure. She could have easily spent all day there among the stacks, and she told him as much.

“That does not surprise me. What sort of methods must I apply to drag you away from your books?” he asked teasingly from his seat in a wingback chair, a book on blood magic open in his lap. 

She slid a book on elemental magic back onto the shelf and smiled at him. “Anything. Talk to me. You’ll always have my attention, Lucius. Besides, if there’s something here I want to read, you’ll surely owl it to me.”

“Indeed. What do you want to talk about then?” he asked, setting his own book aside.

“How is Draco?” she asked, taking a seat across from him.

“We are here alone, and you want to speak about my son. Should I be envious, pet? Have you chosen to trade me in for a newer model broom?” He said it in a somewhat teasing voice, one of his pale, perfect eyebrows arched at her. 

“No! Oh my god, no! Draco is...ugh. Lucius, trust me, you do not have anything to be worried about there. He’s more apt to hex me than anything else. I have no romantic interest in your son. You are the only, um,  _ broom _ that I’ll be riding.”

She blushed then at having said such a dirty thing, and his laughter filled the room. 

“How delightfully forward of you,” he laughed. 

“You did tell me that you don’t share,” she sniffed, still embarrassed.

“I do not. I’m glad you remember. Why did you ask about Draco then?”

“Well, you said he had a task…”

“One that I cannot discuss.”

“I know. I know that I promised you I would protect him if I could, but it’s almost impossible!” she wrung her hands, hoping he would not be disappointed in her. “There is never an opportunity to be around him outside of our classes. As I said he’s more apt to insult me than confide in me if he believes the Dark Lord has someone spying on him or out to get him! I don’t know what else I can do!” 

Lucius sighed. “I do not expect the impossible. I was very angry when I asked you to look after him, and I recognise that you are not in the best position to do so.”

“Does he… he doesn’t know about us, does he?” 

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Unfortunately, I do not believe he would be any more amenable to intervention on your part if he did.”

“No, probably not. I would not want to come between you and your son,” she said softly. 

“I appreciate that. Given what lies ahead, I need him to trust me now, trust that I am looking out for him and have his best interests at heart,” he said.

She nodded in silent agreement. 

He frowned. “What you said before - has my son hexed you?”

She hesitated, and he sighed in response.

“I love my son, but he lacks discretion. It would have been preferable for him to befriend Potter rather than make an enemy of him at the start. Attacking you serves no greater purpose and is a distraction from the task he has at hand.” 

She noted to herself that Lucius did not promise to actually DO anything about Draco’s generally unpleasant attitude and tendency to hex those he disliked. Part of her was disappointed that Lucius was not more concerned about her, but she brushed that away with the belief that her lover did not want to draw any attention to them. Plus it made her feel strong and powerful to think that he thought she could take care of herself.

“I am appreciative of your efforts, pet, and I wish for you to continue on this same path. I know it is not ideal, but it does make me feel better to know that someone else is looking out for him, even if he is unaware of it,” Lucius said in a resigned voice.

“Of course I will,” she said automatically. He could have asked almost anything of her, and she probably would have done it. 

“Good. Then let us move on,” he said. “I was unable to see you before the holiday, and I doubt I will have occasion to see you again before the start of the school term, so you must forgive the tardiness of this gift.”

She watched as he withdrew a small wrapped present from his robe pocket. “Happy belated Christmas, pet.”

“Lucius! I was not expecting a gift!” She really was not - just being here with the wizard she loved was gift enough. 

“Open it.”

She took it from him and tore excitedly into the paper, confident that the small box size indicated jewelry. She was not mistaken. Nestled inside on a bed of black velvet was a pendant, the round faceted blue stone set into silver or platinum. 

“It’s beautiful! Is that…” she cradled the pendant carefully in her palm as she studied the brilliant stone.

“A sapphire. Your birthstone, is it not?”

“It is! This is - oh Lucius, it’s incredible!” 

She felt almost obligated to say that it was too much. Wasn’t that what one was supposed to do when presented with an extravagant gift? But she did not want to say it. She wanted to wear it, to show the world that someone cared about her, Hermione Jean Granger, enough to give her a precious gemstone. She would not be able to tell anyone it came from him, but she wanted it, and she wanted to wear it every day and know that she carried with her something else that he’d taken care to select just for her. 

“Come here.” He held out his hand to her, and she went to him, still holding the pendant. He pulled her into his lap, and she leaned in to kiss him.

“Let me have it. It goes on your bracelet,” he said as she pressed kisses onto his lips and along the edge of his jaw. 

“It does?” she paused to look at him. 

He made a sound of agreement and reached for his wand. “Hold out your arm for me.”

She watched in fascination as he magically attached the pendant to the bracelet, so it dangled prettily from the chain, just to the side of the monogrammed disc. She held up her hand to inspect it as soon as he finished, watching the way the stone caught the light. 

“Oh it’s so lovely! Thank you so much!” she gushed. 

“It is subtle enough to not draw any unwanted attention.”

“I have something for you as well,” she admitted.

He looked genuinely surprised. “That is unnecessary.”

“I know. But I wanted to.”

In truth, she’d agonised for weeks over whether or not to get him something for Christmas. What did one get for the wizard who could buy anything his heart desired? It was amazing how well she thought she knew him until she tried to select a gift for him. Books seemed like an obvious choice, but what was out there in magical literature that he did not already possess? She knew from visiting his home in Scotland and his townhome in Kensington that he had exquisite taste that veered toward expensive art and antiques, the bulk of which were surely well out of her price range.

In the back of her mind, she told herself that if all else failed, she could offer herself, wrapped up in pretty lingerie, for whatever illicit, deviant purpose he desired. 

The day after she returned home from Hogwarts, Hermione had a breakthrough. Her mother loved to visit antique stores and suggested they go shopping, and in a glass case in a dusty store, she found what she thought would be the perfect gift.

“I’ll just go and get it,” she told Lucius, standing up from her comfortable perch in his lap. 

“Are you a witch or not, my dear?” he asked mockingly.

“What?”

He shot her a disapproving look. “Can you not  _ accio _ it?” 

Her face burned in mortification at the very muggle way she’d instinctively stood to walk from the room and physically get his gift from her bag.

“Oh. Um, of course.  _ Accio _ Lucius Malfoy’s Christmas gift,” she said with a wave of her wand. 

She opened the library doors to await the small box. It flew into her hands moments later, and she presented it to him with a shy smile. 

“Happy Christmas, Lucius.”

He pulled her back into his lap, and she watched with nervous anticipation as he unwrapped it. 

“An ouroboros,” he said as he lifted the antique lapel pin from the box. 

The Victorian snake pin was jet and silver and ornately carved, with tiny sparkling eyes made from what the antique dealer swore were real diamonds. She’d had to be sneaky in her purchase of it to prevent her mother from knowing what she was buying and just how much she was spending on it. It had cost enough that she’d had to forgo the expensive lingerie she’d hoped to get for this occasion.

“Yes, I thought it very appropriate. It reminded me of you,” she said softly, now nervous at his reaction.

“A snake eating its tail reminds you of me?” he asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

“In alchemy the ouroboros represents the eternal unity of all things, the cycle of birth and death. In Gnosticism, the serpent eating or biting its tail is symbolic of eternity and the soul of the world,” she said, hoping that she had not gone too far into lecture mode. 

“Yes. A most auspicious symbol,” he said softly as he carefully examined the pin, “representing the unity of all things, material and spiritual, which never disappear but perpetually change form in an eternal cycle of destruction and re-creation.”

She smiled. She’d been so certain he’d know what it meant. Of course the ouroboros represented Lucius to her. The unity of all the things, the symbol of eternity and the soul of the world - Lucius was everything to her. In the few short months they’d been together, he’d become her world, and only her steadfast desire to protect Harry and to help him fulfill the prophecy and bring an end to Voldemort and to war came close to her devotion to Lucius.

“Do you like it?” she asked nervously. 

“Pin it to my robes,” he said, handing her the ouroboros and setting the box aside. She took it from him with a shaky hand and carefully fastened the clasp on the back, unnerved by the way his eyes were trained on her face. 

“There,” she said, sitting back. She’d found it in a muggle antique store, but seeing it on his robes now, the pin definitely looked like something he might have chosen for himself. 

“I shall wear it often. Thank you,” he said sincerely, making her grin with happiness and relief that he liked it. 

“You’re welcome. Just being here is so wonderful. This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she said.

“Let’s make it even more memorable then. I believe there are some lessons we must continue.”

She frowned. She appreciated the dueling lessons and spell-casting and all of the books, but she’d hoped for a continuation of the enjoyable intimacy they’d enjoyed all afternoon and evening.

“Oh. Well, I suppose a library is a good place for lessons. What books are we using?” she asked, hoping that she did not seem ungrateful.

A positively feral grin spread across his face. “No books tonight, pet. Strip.”

She could not get up from his lap quickly enough. She’d always loved libraries, always cherished time spent surrounded by books, and the idea that he wanted sex with her here in his library excited her. That dark, cold, snowy night in Scotland, Lucius Malfoy ensured that she would forever associate stacks of books and the smell of old leather and parchment with the sensation of his hands and his mouth on her body. 

 

~oOo~

 

They slept in that same four poster bed piled high with blankets where she lost her virginity on her birthday. Despite everything they’d done together, she was incredibly nervous about actually sleeping beside him all night. What if she snored? What if he did? What if it was awkward and strange? 

If he noticed she was nervous, he did not mention it, and she was thankful for that. She dressed in an inexpensive but pretty little lace slip of a nightdress that spent more time on the bedroom floor than on her body, and she wondered if all wizards were as seemingly insatiable as Lucius. 

He drifted to sleep late that night, his body warm and naked beside her. She could not easily see him once he closed the thick velvet drapes around the bed, but she curled up on her side and watched him sleep in the darkness. 

Was this what life was like with Lucius Malfoy? Engaging and thoughtful conversation, wine, books, sex? She knew there was more to him than that, that beneath the cold sophisticated image he presented to the public there lurked a passionate and brilliant wizard who feared for his son. He’d shown her a new side of him today, confessing the truths of his marriage to her. What other unknown sides of him would he show her in time? 

She had his admiration and respect, she had some level of his trust, but she wanted more, so much more. She wanted him to love her, love her as she loved him. She wanted freedom for him, from Narcissa, from his service to the Dark Lord. She wanted to be able to walk down the street arm in arm with him, unafraid for the world to see them together. 

It seemed like such a pipe dream, she admitted to herself. She could not do anything about the permanence of his marital bonding, but she could do her part to help free him from service to Voldemort and keep him from Azkaban. It would have to be enough. Lucius had once scoffed at the idea of turning traitor and spying on the evil wizard who’d marked him, but surely she could make him see reason. He wasn’t a willing Death Eater, he cared about her, and he wanted to protect his son. Surely she could convince him to follow in Severus Snape’s footsteps.

She drifted off to sleep beside him with this pleasant thought in her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter. It was not part of the original outline, but after I posted the last chapter, I thought we needed a little bit more of Yule, so this got written, edited, and re-edited this week. As always, I welcome your thoughts, comments, questions, whatever. I'm blown away by the response to this story, and I'm so glad that you're enjoying it thus far.


	17. Sixth Year, Part 8, 1997

Sixth Year, Part 8, 1997

 

Hermione felt as if she was floating on a cloud when she returned to Hogwarts. Lucius had not come right out and said that he loved her in their time together over Yule break, but he’d said he was happy with her, that she brought a happiness into his life he’d never had with his own wife. He’d sufficiently assauaged her guilt over sleeping with a married man. She’d not had a chance to bring up the idea of him actively spying for the Order with him during her stay in Scotland, as he’d instead filled the following morning with practical lessons involving occulemency and darker magic.

The Gryffindor in her preferred forthright and open conversation, and she wanted to just ask him outright if he’d take a more active role in helping her bring down the Dark Lord. She realised though as Lucius corrected her wand position that morning for a painful dark curse that perhaps this  _ was _ his method of helping. It was subtle and cunning and so very Slytherin: he was training her to train Harry for what was to come. She would push him for more though - he was too valuable a resource given his reported position in the Dark Lord’s inner circle - but the education and assistance he’d been providing her all this time were definitive proof of his true loyalty as far as she was concerned.

Once back at school, she had to content herself with a regular book delivery from him and sporadic messages via her bracelet. It was difficult to converse through the bracelet, but they managed well enough for her to ascertain that he was alive and well. On very infrequent nights, he used the bracelet to send her messages that made her blush and left her needy with desire. She missed him terribly but tried to focus as much as she could both on her schoolwork and on preparing Harry for what was to come.

Harry, for his part, was about to drive her barmy. He still refused to admit that using the Half-Blood Prince’s potions book was a bad idea. He’d also been tasked by Dumbledore with retrieving a memory Professor Slughorn, something about a young Tom Riddle, and she found herself frustrated by Harry’s lack of focus on the matter. She did not understand why Dumbledore was unable to retrieve the memory himself and found herself increasingly frustrated with their headmaster and his unwillingness to share information with Harry.  

Dumbledore had not asked for a private meeting with her since that night after the incident in the Ministry, but a few times she’d been in his presence and felt a subtle probing at her mind. She’d done her best to subtly shield her mind as Lucius had taught her and redirect Dumbledore by focusing on schoolwork, usually problems from her arithmancy class. He seemed to retreat quickly from her mind when she did that. She felt reasonably confident he was unaware of her involvement with Lucius.

She was unable to see her lover again until March, when he was available during a Hogsmeade weekend. She feigned illness again, and as she had in the fall, she waited for her friends to leave before she left the castle’s wards and portkeyed to the lodge. Lucius was upon her the moment she landed, tearing at her clothes before pushing her backward onto a worn leather sofa. It was reminiscent of their coupling in the alley in Hogsmeade. He whispered filthy words in her ear as his hands tugged at her hair, her nipples, and his teeth left their marks on her neck and shoulder. It was hard and fast and rough and made her cry out at the heady mix of pleasure and pain and intense sensation.

Afterward she was sweaty and breathless and parts of her were damp and stuck uncomfortably to the leather, but she still held him in her arms, grateful to be with him. Eventually they separated and clothes were righted, which ended up being rather pointless because they spent more time that day undressed than dressed. 

In between bouts of sex, she pushed him to talk, as something was obviously bothering him and had been bothering him from the moment she portkeyed into their private oasis.

“You cannot begin to understand what it is like, what it means to serve Him,” he said, staring up at the canopy over the bed.

“Will you tell me?” she asked. 

When they spoke in the Department of Mysteries and then in the Shrieking Shack last year, she brought up the first war and the _ imperius _ curse that had been used against him, but she’d not pushed him to talk about his current role as a Death Eater. She knew he was unhappy, but truth be told, she’d been content to cocoon herself away with Lucius and make the most of her time with him. She’d been telling herself since New Year’s though that she needed to ask him the difficult questions and think beyond just her private relationship with him. There was an entire side to him that she’d only glimpsed that night in the Department of Mysteries, and she was determined to know it. 

Lucius was quiet for a moment before he finally spoke.

“I was a boy the first time I met the Dark Lord. He was charming, charismatic. My mother thought Him incredibly handsome. He drew people in, while simultaneously intimidating them. I was convinced from an early age that He would be Minister for Magic before I finished school. After all, He had the backing of my father and the fathers of my friends, and He was the Heir of Salazar Slytherin himself. He charmed witches and drew wizards into His fold. He seemed unstoppable.”

Hermione had only known Voldemort as Harry had described him after the Tri-Wizard Tournament: ghostly pale, hairless, noseless, red eyes, as if He was truly half snake, half man. It was hard to picture a handsome wizard who drew people to Him with His persona.

“He was powerful too, so powerful. You were impressed before, with my wandless magic. The Dark Lord is capable of so much more. I was drawn to His power. We all were,” he said softly.

“But you didn’t want to join Him? To be a Death Eater?” she questioned. 

He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“You must understand that I grew up knowing that He was an associate of my father’s, hearing about how He would change the world, how He would usher in a glorious new age where we did not have to fear the muggle world.”

She scoffed. Unless Voldemort had planned to take over the muggle world - which seemed unlikely given that the muggle world had nuclear weapons and technological horrors wizards could not even fathom - she was unsure how He’d planned to go about creating this brave new world. It was hard to explain that though to someone who avoided all things muggle. 

“You doubt Him, I know, but if you had seen Him in his prime, you would understand why so many fell under his thrall,” Lucius said. 

“He recruited me, of course, because of who I was, who my father was. I was still a student. By the time I was married to Narcissa, I was one of His associates, a rising young star in the Ministry. The tasks I was given involved collecting information and using it achieve political gain. It appealed to my sense of ambition and cunning. Slytherins are not above a bit of dirty politics,” he admitted.

“When did you realise He was violent?” she prompted. 

“Not until it was too late. He was pleased enough with me, with my work, and He wanted more. He always wanted more. I knew there was an inner circle of close supporters and was initially thrilled to be welcomed into it. It was proof of my importance, you see. Malfoys have long aspired to be the power behind the throne. I was thrilled until…” his voice trailed off then, and he looked away.

“Until?” she prompted in a hushed whisper. She wanted to know. She really did. It was important to her that she truly know and understand Lucius, all of him.

“Until a sobbing muggle woman was thrown at my feet,” he said flatly.

Hermione clutched the soft wool blanket over her breasts and tried to push down the bile she felt rising in her throat. 

“I was, well, what I was expected to do to this muggle does not bear repeating in polite company,” he said quietly. “It was made clear to me that to not comply was to risk my family. I cared little for Narcissa, but she  _ was _ pregnant with my son, and I loved my parents dearly.”

“You killed the muggle woman?” she whispered.

“I had no choice. I believed, at the time, that such a horrific means of entree into His inner circle was meant to bind His followers to Him. If I killed for Him and then tried to leave, to turncoat, my crime had been witnessed by many, any of whom could leave a pensieve memory with the Aurors.”

He paused for a moment, and Hermione was unsure of what to do or say. 

The man she loved had just confessed to  _ murder _ . 

She’d known, perhaps somewhere in the dark recesses of her mind, that this was a possibility. He was a marked Death Eater, willing or not, and he’d surely been expected to do terrible things. She’d tried for months to mentally excuse away the crimes he’d likely been forced to commit. Maybe he’d been able to get away with just disrupting the peace, sowing the seeds of rebellion and chaos. Maybe he’d been able to get away with a spot of brief torture, leaving death and destruction to others.

She’d known though. Deep down, she’d known. Voldemort’s Death Eaters were not just a political group. There was violence. Of course there was violence. Too many had been killed in the first war, in Voldemort’s rise to power, for her to excuse it all away. He’d seen terrible things. He’d been forced to DO terrible things. 

She could picture Lucius in his early 20s, his entire adult life ahead of him, forced into a marriage he did not want, with a child on the way. As abhorrent as the idea of murder was, could she condemn him for that one act? If she’d been in his position, if she’d been faced with the option to kill or be killed, she thought perhaps she would be willing to sacrifice her own life… but someone else’s? If it was kill or watch her parents be killed? Kill or watch Lucius or Harry be killed? 

Once upon a time, when she was innocent and magic was just for fairy tales, she would have argued on the side of righteousness, argued that murder was never justifiable, that she’d rather die than take a life. She was no longer certain. The lines between black and white had blurred into shades of grey even before she’d handed that prophecy to Lucius. She’d cursed others, disfigured Marietta Edgecombe, and left Dolores Umbridge to the centaurs, not caring if the horrid woman made it out of the forest alive. Was it really that much of a stretch to go from that to understanding why her lover had killed someone?

The terrible reality was that she  _ could  _ mentally put herself in Lucius’s position, faced with a muggle woman he was expected to kill, and she could understand why he’d done it. The woman had been captured by Death Eaters or by the Dark Lord Himself, and her life was forfeit at that point. No act of righteous bravery would have saved her. Had Lucius refused, someone else would have surely cast the killing curse. By killing her, Lucius had spared his unborn son, spared his parents, spared himself. Sacrificing his own life would not have saved the muggle woman, and it would not have protected his son or his parents. She did not have to like it, but deep down, she could understand it. 

“I was quick about it, and He was displeased with me for that,” Lucius continued. “I have no stomach for torture or murder, but He valued me because I was a Malfoy. I naively believed that after that first night, I had proved my loyalty and would not be expected to engage in such violence again, but I was wrong. When He wanted to mark me, I tried to refuse, and, well, you know the rest. I was under the  _ imperius _ curse until He disappeared that day at the Potter home.”

“I read some of the stories, about the end of the war, about your testimony.”

“Did you? Being under the  _ imperious _ is...not pleasant, at least it was not to me. It’s akin to being on a potion high but yet dimly aware of what is happening around you. Some report that it feels as if being in a trance, but when the Dark Lord cast it upon me, I had enough awareness to know that my body was beyond my control.”

“And you were branded,” she whispered.

He raised his arm, looking at the dark mark on the inside of his left forearm. 

“Yes. I was branded,” he said bitterly. “It was excruciatingly painful.”

“If you’d realised before you were brought into the inner circle, if you’d known what would be expected of you, would you have been able to find some way to avoid it?” she asked. 

He pondered that for a moment. 

“It is... _ unlikely _ . He was an associate of my father’s. My father publicly supported the Dark Lord. I was expected to be a supporter. My father’s alliance with Him meant that had I tried to defect to the light, I would have been met with immediate suspicion and perhaps even arrested. Dumbledore would never have believed that a Malfoy did not want to be one of the Dark Lord’s supporters.”

Hermione frowned as she realised that Lucius was likely correct in that regard. Sirius Black had been a loyal follower of Albus Dumbledore’s and the headmaster had still not done anything to protect him from being imprisoned for a crime he did not commit. She could not imagine Dumbledore going out of his way to help Lucius Malfoy back then.

“You must also understand, pet, that the violence and the terror were not widespread until the final year or so before He disappeared. Before that, His rise was about political gain. Power. There was a logic and a reasoning behind it. It was a movement, and there was a clear purpose to nearly everything that He and His followers did. But now…”

“Now?”

“He is...deeply unstable,” Lucius admitted. “I do not know if it was the loss of His body in 1981 or if it was the means of resurrection, but His mind is damaged. It was likely damaged before all of this, but it is infinitely worse now. He rules the inner circle, His followers, by means of fear. Loyalty is forced, except perhaps from my deranged sister-in-law. It is an unwise way to rule. Rule by terror will inevitably result in rebellion and revolution. You can only push the masses so far.”

She took that in and considered his words. If Lucius could see that the Dark Lord was unstable, surely those close to him could as well. Bellatrix was obviously too insane to see reason, but what of the others? Were they so caught up in prejudice that they’d happily throw their lot in with an insane demagogue? Or were more of them like Lucius - trapped by the mark on their arm?

She rolled onto her side and studied her lover. He’d thrown an arm carelessly over his face, and his eyes were closed. She knew that he did not want to be a Death Eater, that he did not want his son to face that same horror. But he’d been raised by someone who’d groomed him to be a part of this. He’d been the Dark Lord’s chosen one, destined to be part of the inner circle by virture of his father’s allegiance. Her heart twisted at the idea that Lucius and Harry both - the two wizards she loved the most - had both been thrust into dire situations neither had really chosen. 

Still, she had trouble reconciling the man beside her with the son he’d raised.

“And when we all rebel against Him, what happens after that?” she asked.

“War, obviously. We’re already at war, although not everyone is willing to accept that.”

“Well yes, war, of course. But what about afterward?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“In a world free from Vol-the Dark Lord, will you still raise your son to hate people like me? Do you still believe in blood purity and supremacy?” She was almost afraid to ask, and yet she felt she simply had to ask him this most difficult of questions. She knew that he was open-minded enough to sleep with her, but he’d willingly supported Voldemort up until he was expected to participate in acts of violence. He was raising a son who still called her hateful slurs.

Lucius frowned. “How can you ask that, given all of this?” he asked, gesturing between them. 

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Your son - the very person you want me to protect if I can - calls me a filthy mudblood. Of course I’m asking. Draco did not decide for himself that wizards and witches like me are somehow beneath him.”

He sighed. “I apologise then, on Draco’s behalf. I was raised to believe that we - wizards and witches - were above muggles. We had magic and they did not. Our magic made us superior to them. I was raised knowing that we cannot reveal ourselves to muggles because in their fear, they hunted us nearly to extinction. Separation was our salvation. And then the muggleborns came.

“They had not been raised in our world, with our understanding of magic. I do not dispute your magical prowess, for you are indeed accomplished and powerful, pet, but as we’ve discussed before, you were dropped into our world without any real understanding of it, and are sent back to the muggle world during school breaks.”

“It’s not as if there’s another option,” she pointed out. “Leaving muggleborns in the muggle world, without any understanding of magic or control over their abilities is to condemn them. There’s no way of knowing how many people over the years were locked away in asylums and mental institutions because others believed them insane. Or possessed.”

“We bring children, 11 year olds, into our world and expect them and their parents to keep the secret,” he said.

“And I have. I have, Lucius. I would  _ never _ betray the Statute of Secrecy.”

“But you are an only child, are you not? What about those with younger, muggle siblings? Imagine a child of five or six, who has witnessed his older sister’s magical outbursts, who knows something is not quite right. When the letter arrives from Hogwarts, do his parents tell him the truth about what his sister is? Where she is going? Do they hide it from him every time an owl visits their home with a letter? The secrecy of our world then rests on the shoulders of a young child!”

She frowned, realising that he had a point. She had no siblings to speak of, and her parents were both only children. There was no extended family to hide her magic from. Harry’s own mother had had a muggle sister, who had grown up hearing of magic and knowing of it but not being able to perform it herself or participate in the magical world. Had Petunia Dursley’s disdain for all things magical started in childhood, in resentment and confusion over Lily’s magical gifts?

“There has to be a better way, Lucius. A way that doesn’t involve banning muggleborns or trying to kill us!” 

“I do not know precisely what that way is, pet, but I am open to new ideas,” he admitted, a somewhat pained expression on his face. 

“You are? Meaning, you don’t think I have dirty blood?”

“I am,” he said with a sigh. “Would I be here with you like this if I thought you were muggle filth?”

He continued before she could respond. “Had I much sympathy for muggleborns when I was a child myself, I can assure you my father would not have permitted it to flourish, nor would it have been safe to openly espouse such a belief around the Dark Lord’s inner circle. As for my son, I have raised him to cherish and hold dear our ancient traditions, to value our heritage. I will not apologise for being proud that I was born into a magical family, that I have not had to exist between two worlds as you have. Draco’s mother though is, shall we say, less than tolerant. The Black family motto is ‘toujours pur.’”

“Purity always,” she murmured to herself.

“Indeed. She has not spoken to her sister since the day Andy was cast out of the family,” he said with a sigh. “I must also concede that the Dark Lord’s return has limited my ability to provide a stronger influence on my son. Despite my best efforts, Draco is learning the hard way, I fear, that the Dark Lord’s path is not one we want to walk.”

Lucius looked tense, and she knew the weight of the war, of his forced service to Voldemort, and his fears for his son’s safety were a terrible burden he carried with him. Still, she had reason to be optimistic: he was not an intrinsically violent person, his beliefs were based more on protection than on underlying prejudice, and he was open to new ideas, perhaps even to compromise. 

“I know that you’re in a really difficult position right now, that you can’t leave Britain, and you can’t hide Draco from Him, but you can help us. You know that I won’t sit back and let the Dark Lord destroy muggleborns. My life is over if He wins. I can help Harry, but even I’m limited in my options and what I can do. But you - you’re in the inner circle. There has to be information you can share, things you can do-”

He cut her off with a sharp look.

“I will not risk Draco’s life, not even for this.”

“I would never ask that of you,” she said sincerely. “I know how much your son means to you. But think about it Lucius - if the Dark Lord is gone, you’re free. I know you said that you think you’ll be condemned to Azkaban, but if you help Harry, if he and I can tell the Aurors, tell everyone that you helped us defeat the Dark Lord from the inside, they can’t convict you. You’re already doing so much for me with the books and the training, and I am grateful - believe me, I am grateful - and I can use that to teach Harry what I know so that he’s better prepared. But it’s not the same thing as intelligence about what the Death Eaters are doing, what He’s planning.”

He stood abruptly and reached for his clothes, his expression the cold, blank mask she remembered from her childhood. 

“It is late. You need to get back to Hogwarts before your absence is noted.”

“Lucius?” She was perplexed by the about face he’d just done. 

“Get dressed.” His tone of voice left no room for argument.

She sat up in bed and slid awkwardly from the blankets as she fumbled with her clothing, distressed by the sudden change in his demeanor. Had she overstepped the boundaries of their relationship? He’d been so open and honest with her in these last two visits, telling her about Andromeda and Narcissa, about his son and about how he came to be a Death Eater. She really thought she’d made serious inroads with him. More than that, she genuinely thought he’d be more receptive to her overture. 

She dressed in silence and checked her unruly hair to make sure she did not look like she’d spent the day being shagged within an inch of her life before meeting him in that front room where she always landed via portkey. He was staring at the window, back ramrod straight. The crackle of burning logs in the fireplace was the only sound in the room.

She withdrew her wand and waited, uncertain whether she should attempt to speak with him before she left. She really did not want to leave him on such a sour note. 

“Lucius?” It came out as almost a whisper.

He did not turn around, but she detected the slightest drop in tension in his posture.

“I cannot give you what you want,” he said in a quiet voice.

_ ‘Oh god, no. No, no, no’  _ she thought desperately.  _ ‘This can’t be it. Please don’t end this now.’ _

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she silently promised herself she would not cry in front of him.

“What you ask - it is treason to even think it. I can’t. If the Dark Lord discovered such treachery...Draco - I am the only one protecting my son.” His words came out disjointed, and she found herself oddly relieved that he was speaking about his inability to serve as a spy and not about a desire to end their secret relationship. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said in an equally quiet voice. 

He turned around then, finally looking at her. “Nor I you. You took me by surprise with your request. It is...well, given what we are…” he gestured between them to indicate their involvement as his voice trailed off.

She stared at him in silence, waiting for him to continue.

“It was not an unreasonable request. My automatic assumption was to reject it outright for the risk it carries,” he finished.

“I would never ask you to risk your son’s life.”

“You paint a beautiful picture of what could be if young Potter wins, but I’ve seen what happens to those who would betray Him. I am no use to my son dead, especially not if he is forced to witness my torture and death.”

She visibly cringed at the horrific mental picture he painted and at what he’d surely been forced to see and do, and she wrapped her arms around herself in a gesture of self-comfort.

“I know what you want, and it is simply not an option. Not now,” he said with finality. 

Not now. She mulled those words over in her head. Not now. He did not say never. Just not now. 

“I can accept not now. But I won’t give up on you, Lucius Malfoy.”

He came closer to her then, and she relaxed as he kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back from her face before pulling her into an embrace. 

“I am counting on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is finally confronting Lucius's past and what that means for his present and future. What did you think of her rationale? 
> 
> This week I went in and wrote the ending for this chapter, but when I started editing a finished chapter in 7th year, I realised that I'd repeated a scene in this chapter that I'd already written as happening later on. Thus the perils of writing out of order. That scene works better later on, and while the ending of this chapter was a bit ominous and a little disappointing for Hermione, it also felt realistic to me. I couldn't see Lucius just leaping to be a spy when Draco's life was possibly on the line. He doesn't really have a lot of reason to trust Dumbledore, Moody, or some of the others, and they wouldn't have a lot of incentive to trust him either. 
> 
> Thank you all for continuing to read and share your thoughts with me. The last few chapters have been a bit Lucius-heavy, but up next you'll get to see a lot more of the action at Hogwarts and some Draco/Hermione interaction!


	18. Sixth Year, Part 9, 1997

###  Sixth Year, Part 9, 1997

 

Harry had been so convinced for so long that Malfoy - Draco that is - was up to something. Harry was worse than a dog with a bone when it came to stuff like this, and despite Hermione’s insistence that Draco was not a Death Eater and was surely NOT up to anything nefarious at all, her friend refused to listen to logic or reason. 

She couldn’t very well come right out and tell Harry that she was involved with Draco’s father and that Lucius had told her flat out that Draco was _not_ a marked Death Eater - yet. Nor could she tell him that according to her lover, the Dark Lord was specifically not marking anyone who was underage. And she most certainly could not tell her friend that Draco had been given some sort of mysterious task by the Dark Lord either, so she’d resorted to arguing with Harry on a regular basis and trying to deflect his concerns with logic and reason. 

Hermione did have to admit to herself though that all was not well with Lucius’s son. As the year progressed, he’d lost weight, and he looked continually exhausted and nervous or stressed. She knew he had a task of some kind, and it was obvious it weighed heavily on him. Her promise to Lucius to watch over his son remained, and she’d gone so far as to make a few polite overtures toward Draco if she saw him alone in the library or in the halls. He was dismissive of her, and she was surprised that he didn’t take the opportunity to lash out at her or call her names. If anything, he’d gone out of his way to ignore her, which naturally Harry also saw as suspicious. She had expressed her concern to Lucius via her bracelet, but he was noncommittal, insisting that his son was merely worried about school or about his mother’s possible involvement with her deranged sister.

Everything had reached a boiling point by spring, although she didn’t realise it in advance. 

One sunny afternoon, Draco seemed particularly distraught when she saw him leave the library, so against her better judgment, she decided to follow him. She discreetly tailed him across the castle, all the way into Moaning Myrtle’s favorite girls’ lavatory. Malfoy was bent over one of the sinks, the ghost beside him offering comforting words.

She thought about leaving. He seemed distraught, and he obviously had not wanted anything to do with her before. She wasn’t sure what she was even doing here or what she hoped to accomplish, but the stalemate that had existed almost all year was driving her insane. She had to do something.

“Malfoy?” 

He startled at her voice and spun around.

“What the hell are you doing here, Granger? Get lost. You aren’t  _ wanted _ ,” he spit angrily. Hermione was shocked to realise that he looked as if he’d been crying. 

She held up her hands in a defensive manner meant to show that she intended no harm. “Malfoy, I just...I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I just wanted to check on you, to see if you’re okay. Is there anything I can do? Shall I… shall I get someone for you?”

_ God, this was a mistake _ , she thought. She shouldn’t have come in here. He was never going to open up to her about anything. This had been a stupid, Gryffindor-ish move on her part.

His face twisted into a sneer as he wiped his eyes. “You? Why would I need YOU for anything, you stupid, filthy little mudblood!” he spat. 

The insult was a slap in the face to Hermione, who had to remind herself that despite the physical resemblance, Draco was not his father. 

“I just wanted to help,” she said defensively. “There’s no need to call me names.”

He glared at her then. “What is it about you, Granger?” he demanded. “It’s not enough that you’ve convinced all the professors here but Snape that the sun rose and set on your arse, it’s not enough that you have to be the best in everything. No, you’ve somehow managed to convince my father -  _ MY FATHER _ \- that you are somehow untouchable!”

Hermione was speechless.  _ Lucius _ had told Draco she was untouchable? She’d asked her lover before if Draco knew about them, and he’d answered in the negative. Based on his response, she had not expected Lucius to say anything at all to Draco about their involvement. Yet apparently he had. 

“When I saw him last he told me that I was to leave you alone. You! You’re NOTHING!” he spat. 

She swallowed hard at his angry remark. Just what exactly had Lucius told him? She tried to keep her focus on Draco, on his rising anger and the potential for this situation to go very badly, but she could not help but feel awed that Lucius had told his son to leave her alone. In his own way, Lucius was protecting her from afar. 

“What are you that Lucius Malfoy gives a damn? Why does a mudblood matter to my father?” he demanded.

Oh. So he hadn’t told Draco they were romantically involved, she realised. That was...a tiny bit disappointing, if she was perfectly honest with herself, but it was not exactly surprising. 

She saw Draco go for his wand then, and the months of training from Lucius kicked in automatically as she immediately drew her own wand and cast a powerful defensive shield. So much for Draco listening to his father’s apparent demand to leave her alone, she thought wryly as the first curse flew at her.

He fired hex after hex at her, and each time, she held her shield and refused to fight back. With everything she’d learned from Lucius and the books he’d shared, she was fairly confident that she could take Draco down, but she didn’t want to have to explain to her lover why she’d injured his son. 

“Fight back, damn you!” he yelled, firing a hex that blasted into the wall behind her and sent debris flying. She darted out of the way of the crumbling bits of stone.

“Malfoy, stop!” she called out. “I don’t want to fight.”

“What did you do to my father, Granger? I want to know!” He shot back.

A spell bounced off her shield and ricocheted into one of the porcelain sinks, sending a spray of water onto the floor.

The curses he threw were getting progressively darker, but thanks to his father’s supplemental education, Hermione was able to block them. She knew they were making an awful racket and tearing up the lavatory in the process. It was only a matter of time before they were caught by a professor. A professor would surely put a stop to Malfoy’s outburst, but then she’d be in the uncomfortable position of trying to explain why Draco was attacking her in the girls’ lavatory.

She should have known that Harry would be obsessively checking the Marauders’ Map in between his classes. 

She should have known that he’d see her name and Malfoy’s in Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory and come running.

She should have known. 

She should have fought back, even if it meant inflicting minor injuries on Malfoy. It would have been worth the risk of incurring Lucius’s ire for harming his precious heir. 

Instead, she was still hiding behind her shield when Harry burst into the bathroom and drew his own wand. She yelled at them both to stop, to please put their wands down, that they were all going to get into trouble for this. She was unsurprised that no one heeded her pleas, and she knew she’d have to take drastic action.

What happened next would haunt Hermione. 

Harry fired at Draco, yelling out  _ sectumsempra _ , a spell that was wholly unfamiliar to Hermione. At the same time, Draco raised his wand at Harry and spit out what sounded an awful lot like  _ crucio _ .

She knew from her studies with Lucius that no shield could truly block the  _ cruciatus _ , but a powerful witch or wizard could cast a strong enough shield to least lessen the impact of the curse, especially if the  _ cruciatus _ was cast by someone of lesser magical strength or who did not put enough anger behind it. To successfully cast the  _ cruciatus _ , you had to truly  _ mean _ it. Draco was certainly angry enough, but she had not considered that he would go that far. 

Desperate to protect Lucius’s son AND prevent Harry from being hit with a dangerous curse, Hermione threw herself in between the two wizards. Perhaps some rational part of her brain thought that she’d be able to maintain her shield and thus block both curses and bring calm to an escalating situation. Or perhaps, she reasoned much later on, it was yet another glaring example of her muggle upbringing that she would automatically go for the physical response and throw herself in between Harry and Draco instead of using magic to stupefy the both of them.

Time seemed to move in slow motion then. The heat of a curse barely grazed her shoulder from behind, and excruciating pain spiraled out from the point of contact. It was like nothing she’d ever felt before or ever wanted to feel again. The extreme mental concentration needed to hold onto her shield broke then, just for a second, but it was enough.

Her shield faltered and then dissipated in a shimmer of magic and dust. She lost her grip on her wand and heard the vine wood clatter to the stone floor as she was left defenseless. For the briefest fraction of a second, pain left her body as she heard Draco’s cry of horror. 

And then the curse cast by Harry hit her squarely in the chest, sending searing pain across her torso and dropping her onto the stone floor. 

All she knew in that next moment was that she was wet, and she was in pain. Draco had destroyed more than one sink in his anger with her, and she’d landed in a heap on the wet stone floor. The front of her clothes were wet too though. That was decidedly odd to her, considering the burning sensation in her chest. She felt strangely disassociated from her body. Would pain do that to you, make you disassociate like that, she wondered to herself. Even when hit with a curse, she couldn’t make her mind quiet itself. 

Her vision was a bit spotty, and pain wrapped around her body like a wet rope, and she could hear someone yelling. 

“Hermione! Oh my god, Hermione! Are you okay?” 

“No she’s not okay. What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter? You could have killed someone!”

“Me? You were the one trying to kill Hermione! And you cast an unforgivable curse at me!” 

Were they really yelling at each other still? She opened her mouth to tell them both to shut up but found she couldn’t speak. She felt someone touching her and could see Harry’s worried face hovering over her own. 

“Why did you do that?? Hermione, why would you do something so stupid?”

“Move, Potter, before she bleeds to death. Of all the ignorant, insufferable...”

Harry’s face disappeared from her view, replaced by the cold black stare of Professor Snape. He looked fuzzy to her, but she thought his wand was drawn, and she felt an odd tingling in her chest before she passed out completely.

 

~oOo~

 

When Hermione awoke sometime later in the hospital wing, she felt numb from the neck down, a sensation that engendered a rising sense of panic. She made a pathetic attempt to move her limbs and reassure herself that she was not paralyzed from the curses that struck her in the lavatory. Within seconds, Madam Pomfrey was hovering over her, pouring another foul potion down her throat and making vaguely soothing noises at her. She lost consciousness again.

The world was hazy when she awoke an undetermined amount of time later. It was dark and quiet in the hospital wing, and her body felt heavy, but there was no pain. She blinked a few more times and tried to focus her vision, the blurriness likely a side effect of some of the potions she’d been given.

“Awake, Granger?” 

The voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

“Who....?” she managed to croak out. 

She heard the shuffling sound of someone moving closer to her and then she caught a blur of light color above her. She blinked a few more times. In the dark of the room, dressed all in black, his fair hair and pale skin were like a floating beacon of light to her.

“Malfoy?”

“Potter nearly killed you, you know.” 

“Harry?” she whispered. Her mind felt jumbled, addled even. In the past when she’d injured herself, she been given mild pain relieving draughts. She’d never been so heavily drugged like this. She tried to force herself to remember. Why would Harry want to hurt her? He wouldn’t.

It came back to her then in a jumbled rush. Draco. Moaning Myrtle’s lavatory. The fight. Harry interrupting and thinking the worst, casting an unknown spell at Malfoy.

“Of course, being the precious golden boy that he is, he’ll get away with it. Anyone else would have been expelled for nearly killing someone with that sort of egregious use of grey magic,” Draco said bitterly. 

“He didn’t know...wouldn’t hurt me,” she rasped. Her throat felt parched, and she wished for water but doubted Malfoy would be all that accommodating. 

“Did you know?  _ Sectumsempra _ . Did you know what it would do?” he asked.

She managed to shake her head in the negative.

“You’re damned lucky Professor Snape was nearby, or you would have bled to death on the floor.”

How odd, she thought to herself, that she should owe her survival then to Professor Snape. She was certain he loathed her. 

“Still can’t believe you wouldn’t fight back,” he muttered under his breath. 

“Wouldn’t...didn’t want...hurt you,” she slurred. Did Malfoy have a point to all of this, she wondered. It obviously night, judging by the darkness of the ward, and she was so very sleepy.

His face was suddenly close to hers, and Hermione startled, as she hadn’t realised he’d moved.

“Why did you it? WHY, Granger? You took an unknown curse. For  _ me _ . I want to know why!” he hissed.

Her vision was still blurry, and looking at Draco was like looking at a younger Lucius. Her mind wandered to her lover. Lucius had surely been beautiful when he was Draco’s age. Devastatingly handsome. She wished she’d been a student at Hogwarts at the same time with him. He would be unhappy with her though because she failed to block Harry’s curse. She was supposed to be better trained than that. She had done as he’d asked though and protected Draco, so surely he would not be  _ too _ angry with her. 

She realised then that Malfoy wanted an answer from her. 

“Promised,” she mumbled, her eyelids drifting shut.

“Granger! Wake up!” he hissed. “Who did you promise?”

“Lucius.”

“You promised my father?” Malfoy prodded.

“Said...protect you. He worries. You. Loves you,” she mumbled, closing her eyes again. Her eyelids were so very heavy.

“My father asked you to  _ protect  _ me?” he asked in disbelief

She opened her eyes again and tried to force herself awake, annoyed that Malfoy couldn’t seem to understand her, even though she was quite certain she was explaining herself clearly.

“Loves you.  _ So _ much.”

Malfoy pushed away from her cot, a strange, muffled sound coming from him. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor as he walked away. 

That was odd, she thought to herself. Her eyes must have watered because it looked like Malfoy’s face was wet. 

She heard the close of a door, and then slipped back into dreamless sleep.

 

~oOo~

 

When Hermione woke again, she had the faintest of memories of a nighttime visitor, of talking to Malfoy, but she had a hard time believing that he would ever waste his precious time checking on a mudblood. By the time the fogginess from the pain potions cleared, she had convinced herself that his visit had been nothing but a strange drug-induced dream. 

In total, she spent four days in the hospital wing, bitterly upset with the entire situation. It had been a mistake to reach out to Draco. It had been a mistake to forget about Harry and his damned map. She wished she could go back in time and undo it all. 

Her frustration was exacerbated by Harry. Harry hovered. A lot. At first he was deeply apologetic, insisting that the Prince’s book only said the spell was ‘for enemies,’ and he had no idea it would result in the deep cuts on her body. And anyway, he’d not meant to hit her at all, surely she had to know that he would never, ever want to hurt her.  

She knew. She knew Harry felt horribly guilty that she’d been injured, guilty enough that she didn’t bother to tell him that his awful spell had left scars on her chest and belly. She was not a generally vain person or overly obsessed with her appearance, but it did bother her to know that the next time she was with Lucius, he would see her marked up body. She tried to avoid even thinking about how she’d explain this entire mess to the man she loved.

She’d seen neither hide nor hair of Draco since regaining full consciousness in the hospital wing, and she was unsure what to think about him. She was reasonably certain that he’d grazed her with the  _ cruciatus _ curse, a curse that carried with it a mandatory sentence in Azkaban. Had he intended to hit her with it? Or was he aiming at Harry? Had her shield blunted at least some of the impact of the curse? Or had he hit her full on with it? 

He’d been so angry at her, angry and confused and upset. Had he owled his father? Had he demanded that Lucius explain himself? What would Lucius tell his son? She was desperate to contact Lucius, but she didn’t dare use his bracelet in the hospital wing where anyone could walk in and catch her conversing with a suspected Death Eater. 

Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape both came to see her in the hospital wing the day after the incident to question her. The headmaster looked weary and ill enough that she considered asking him if he wanted to sit down. Professor Snape looked tense. She kept her occulemency shields firmly in place as she tried to play the entire thing off as one big misunderstanding: she’d been practising shielding spells and had let an argument with Malfoy escalate in the hopes he’d hex her so she could test out her shield against someone who wouldn’t hold back. Harry was in the wrong place at the wrong time and acted rashly to defend another student. She’d thrown herself in between them in an attempt to prevent further dueling. 

It wasn’t the most plausible of explanations, but it was the most benign story she could think up on short notice that what Professor Snape had witnessed.

She felt the slight prodding sensation in her mind that indicated Dumbledore was using legilimency on her, and she immediately looked away, over at Professor Snape, whilst concentrating on the amount of pain she’d been in, flooding her thoughts with memories of pain and confusion from the  _ sectumsempra _ curse to distract him. Dumbledore withdrew from her mind, and she tried not to glare at him. Had she not glanced over at Professor Snape, she would have missed the slight quirk to his eyebrow as he watched her.

The headmaster must have been satisfied with her explanation because he offered her an insincere smile. “Dueling between students, even when done for educational purposes, is forbidden outside of class, Miss Granger. I have taken points from both Gryffindor and Slytherin and Mr. Potter and Mr. Malfoy are serving detention for their role. I believe your injuries though are punishment enough. It is most fortuitous then that you are recovering. I shall advise Professor McGonagall to ensure that you receive your class assignments so you do not fall behind. Come, Severus.”

“I must speak with Madam Pomphrey about her need for additional reserves of skele-grow,” Snape said tersely. 

“Very well. Carry on then. Miss Granger, I appreciate your desire to learn, but in the future, please refrain from testing spells, defensive or otherwise, outside of the classroom,” Dumbledore said, nodding at her and Severus both before departing.

An awkward silence filled the room then. She looked at her potions professor, and he looked at her, narrowing his eyes at her. 

“The headmaster may believe that drivel, but do not for a second presume that I do,” he said slowly. 

She was tempted to make a snide remark in response but had to remind herself that her professor had some sort of friendly relationship with Lucius. 

“I do not presume anything,” she said cooly. 

“You are  _ hiding  _ something.”

She arched an eyebrow at him in what she hoped was the sort of intimidating stare Lucius was so good at giving to others, and she kept her occulemency shields firmly in place.

“I told you what happened.”

“You are a prefect, engaging in a duel outside of class. You should be stripped of your badge,” he hissed.

“I was not engaging in a duel. I did not fire a single offensive spell. I cast a shield. That is all. You’re welcome to check my wand if you want,” she said, gesturing to the vine wand that rested on the bedside table. She might have been willing to protect Draco from Harry’s stupid spell, but she wasn’t going to take the fall for something she hadn’t done. The shielding spell she’d used fell into a grey area - definitely not taught at Hogwarts, but not illegal either.

It occurred to her suddenly then that she was alone in the hospital wing with the Order’s spy, and this - this was a prime opportunity to try to protect Draco! She wished she’d thought of this sooner. It would have given her more time to create a better story.

“Professor, there is something not quite... _ right  _ with Malfoy,” she said cautiously.

He raised an eyebrow at her and said nothing.

“He… well, he does not seem like himself lately. I don’t know if he’s ill, but if you could…” her voice trailed off at the expression on his face.

An awkward silence filled the room. 

“I just thought, I mean, you’re his head of house, and I thought that he could...well, he could use someone to talk to,” she finished lamely. 

_ You’ve well and truly botched that _ , she thought to herself. She should have thought of Severus Snape sooner. She should have come up with a way to ask him to look after Draco without giving away her involvement with Lucius. In her mind, the perfect scenario would have been Snape stepping in to help Malfoy, and leading him toward the light and the Order as she was trying to led Lucius.

He looked her up and down as if seeing her for the first time.

“Your  _ concern _ is duly noted Miss Granger. You would do best to remember that it is also misplaced.” 

For the briefest moment, the cold look in his eyes and on his face seemed to shift, and she saw so much there. Concern. Frustration. Perhaps even… was that pity? It shifted again, and the sneering expression he wore daily was back.

“Stay away from Mr. Malfoy,” he said stiffly.

With those parting words, he turned abruptly and stalked from the room, his black robes billowing dramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter originally had a more light-hearted ending with Hermione and Harry, but you'll get that in the next chapter. I thought we needed a bit of Snape in here. I've read a lot of time travel AUs in the Potter fandom, and I really like the idea expressed in some that certain things are destined to happen, even when you change numerous other events and circumstances. I like to think that the confrontation in the lavatory and the use of the sectumsempra was destined to happen no matter what. That tension between Draco and Harry had built for so long, and that explosion of anger needed to come out. I really loved the idea of Hermione being part of the mix and fulfilling her promise to Lucius. 
> 
> As always, I welcome your thoughts, comments, critiques, whatever. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> -Elle


	19. Sixth Year, Part 10, 1997

###  Sixth Year, Part 10, 1997

 

It took Harry three days following the incident in the lavatory - by which point he was fully convinced that she was indeed going to survive - to question her. He’d brought her his notes and her class assignments, and when he found her sitting up in bed, he went for it.

“What the bloody hell were you doing in there with Malfoy, Hermione?”

She grimaced. “I followed him in there. I was trying to talk to him.”

“That didn’t look like talking. It looked like he was trying to kill you and then me.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He would have worn himself out trying to blast through my shield. I could have dropped him easily.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?”

“You’re asking why I didn’t curse or hex Malfoy? Because it’s MALFOY, Harry. He lives to make your life miserable, and you’re convinced he’s a Death Eater. Why would I engage in a fight with him that could easily get me kicked out of school and make even more of an enemy out of him?”

“So you just stood there and let him fire at you?”

“I had a shield up, Harry. He didn’t hit me with anything.”

He looked dubious. “Nothing? Not one thing?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Wow. Hermione, that’s impressive. You need to teach me how to do that!” 

“I will, but you cannot use anything else from that book, Harry. You could have killed someone!” 

“I know, I know. You’ve been telling me this for days, and I’ve got detention with Snape for the rest of the bloody term too, which is utterly unfair considering what Malfoy did. He tried to use an unforgivable curse! You saw him!”

She winced at the lie she’d told Harry. This was another turning point, another moment where she took another step down that darker path. It had been incredibly stupid of Draco to act in anger and even attempt an unforgivable. His curse had hit her, barely, but she’d told no one. She’d promised Lucius to protect his son, and getting Draco sent to Azkaban for his own stupidity would surely violate that promise. 

She’d long had an innate sense of fairness about her, and while she was open to bending the rules if the ends justified the means, it rankled her when others broke rules she perceived as fair. Draco  _ deserved _ to be punished for using an unforgivable, and whatever detention he had - likely with Snape - wasn’t severe enough in her opinion. Although, she reasoned silently, if he figured out that his father was having an affair with a ‘filthy little mudblood’ that knowledge was probably more punishment than anything Snape or even Dumbledore would dole out to him.

“Yes. I did,” she said eventually in response to harry, “but you know as well as I do that you have _ mean it  _ for those curses to work.”

“And what? You don’t think he really means it? He could have killed us both!” 

“No, Harry, I don’t think he meant it. First, the  _ cruciatus _ doesn’t actually kill anyone. And second, he didn’t cast it effectively. Had I not lost my concentration when you burst in there, I could have held my shield and deflected your curse as well,” she said. It wasn’t a completely honest statement, but it would have to do.

Harry looked at her pensively but didn’t say anything, so she continued.   


“I know you’ve been following Malfoy around for months now, but have you really LOOKED at him? He looks… sickly almost. Something is wrong. He’s, well, he’s a right prat, I’ll grant you that, but he’s not a killer. He’s not  _ evil _ .”

“I don’t see how you can believe that when you nearly died!” he exclaimed.

“I nearly died because YOU cast a spell not knowing what it could do! Had you not hit me, you would have hit him, and we’d be an even worse situation. Harry, do you have any idea what Mr. Malfoy would do if he thought you’d meant to kill his son? It’s a miracle he’s not already here, demanding your arrest!”

Harry looked slightly ill at the thought.

“Is that why you flung yourself in front of him? Why you took that curse?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him surprise. “Well, I didn’t really think about it, to be honest. I just acted. I didn’t want anyone to be seriously injured. And YOU, Harry, have enough pressure on you already with you-know-you and what’s inevitably to come. I couldn’t possibly let you distract yourself from that by getting expelled from school or worse if that spell had killed Malfoy. I’m just thankful Professor Snape was there and was able to slow the bleeding so I didn’t die.”

He seemed chastened by her remarks, and she was relieved that he wasn’t questioning her too much about just why she’d followed Malfoy.

“So we… are we good, you and me?”

She felt horribly guilty about twisting the truth, but she smiled and reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Yeah, Harry. We’re good.”

He heaved a deep breath and then smiled. “Good. Listen, I’m going to go find Ron and let him know that as usual, this whole thing was you saving my sorry arse again.”

She smiled back. “He hasn’t figured that out yet?”

“Nah. LavLav has been filling his head with all sorts of rubbish, like that you and Malfoy were having a lovers’ spat that I interrupted.”

Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock. That was the sort of rumour she absolutely did  _ not _ want in circulation. 

“Please tell me you set her straight.”

“Oh, I did. Don’t worry about it.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Not to be impolite, but really, what does Ron see in her?”

Harry’s face flushed red, and glanced around to make sure Madam Pomfrey wasn’t watching them. Then he cupped his hands around his chest to mimic the shape of breasts.

“Tits would be my guess,” he admitted, causing Hermione to burst into raucous laughter. 

 

~oOo~

 

_ Draco said you were cursed. By Potter? _

_ You took a curse for my son? _

_ Are you well? In hospital wing still? _

_ Respond, pet. _

Messages from Lucius trickled in via her bracelet every day she spent in the hospital wing. It was clear that Draco had told him about the encounter in the lavatory, and from the brief messages she was able to receive, it was clear he was both concerned about her well-being and grateful that she’d taken a curse meant for his son. 

She was unable to respond to him until she was released to her dorm and tucked safely behind the curtains of her bed. Communication via jewelry was quicker than owl but incredibly inefficient compared to a telephone. She gave her version of the incident to Lucius as concisely as possible, bit by bit, via the bracelet. 

Lucius was grateful to her for blocking the curse that would have seriously injured his son, but he was unhappy she’d been injured instead. He did not need to chastise her for her decision to throw herself between the two wizards instead of using magic - she’d done enough of that herself for the last few days. He was rightfully angered by the minimal punishment Harry garnered for his actions, but conceded that campaigning to have Harry expelled for harming a muggleborn would draw too much attention to them all, especially given that Draco had cast an unforgivable during their fight.

When Hermione recovered from her injuries, she noticed that Draco seemed to go out of his way to avoid her. He would not meet her gaze in the Great Hall or in class, nor did he and his friends taunt Harry and Ron like they usually did. Harry was exceedingly apologetic about using the  _ sectumsempra  _ curse, and the sight of his friend bleeding on the floor had apparently scared him into dropping at least some of his rivalry with Draco. 

Harry spent most of his free time in detention for his use of a dangerous curse or in special ‘lessons’ with Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape. When Harry confessed to the awful methods Professor Snape was using to ‘teach’ him occulemency, Hermione brought out the books she’d received from Lucius and began tutoring him herself. He was a quick learner and far brighter than Professor Snape preferred to believe. 

She was rather perplexed by Professor Snape. She knew he was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a marked Death Eater turned spy, and she knew that Harry did not trust him even though Dumbledore did. His parting words to her in the hospital room - his warning to stay away from Mr. Malfoy - had sent an icy shiver of fear through her. Did Professor Snape know about her involvement with Lucius? They were friends, weren’t they? At least, it had seemed that way before. Why would he warn her away from his friend? Surely he’d want Lucius to be happy.

She noticed though that since the incident in the lavatory, her defense against the dark arts professor seemed to watch her more closely than before. During class and in the Great Hall, she would occasionally catch him looking at Draco and then at her. When they engaged in practical lessons, he allowed them to select their own dueling partners or kept pairings strictly intra-house. She wondered if that was in the interest of keeping the peace in general, given how poorly Slytherins and Gryffindors tended to get along, or if he was keeping her away from Draco.

Draco had a task, Hermione knew, but then she recalled the meeting she’d witnessed in Hogsmeade with Lucius and Draco - Severus had been there too! Surely Professor Snape knew about Draco’s task. Perhaps he was concerned about Draco’s ability to complete this mysterious task? Perhaps he’d not been referring to Lucius at all that day in the hospital wing. The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that her professor had referred to Draco after all.

All in all, the final weeks of the school term were less stressful than Hermione had anticipated. She recovered completely from the  _ sectumsempra _ curse, and her wounds faded to faint, silvery white scars across her torso and thighs. She was still a little bit  self-conscious about them, but they’d were admittedly less noticeable than she’d initially feared. Lucius let her know via the bracelet that he would contact her after the school term ended but that he would be traveling and would be very busy until then. She had gone days or even weeks before without hearing from him, so she reassured herself that everything was fine. She would see him soon enough, and she had an early summer visit with him to look forward to.

In the meantime, Harry FINALLY agreed to get rid of that awful Half-Blood Prince’s potions book. Ron and Lavender broke up and then got back together again. Malfoy continued to ignore her, but his friends in Slytherin were still arses to just about everyone else. It all felt so, so... _ normal _ . She should have known the sense of relative peace would not last.

 

~oOo~

 

Hermione was en route from the Gryffindor common room to the library when she saw him pacing a stretch of hallway on the seventh floor. She would have thought he was trying to open the Room of Requirement, but it was on the same floor on the opposite side of the castle. Draco Malfoy looked nervous, very nervous. She paused for a moment and debated whether or not she should say something to him. He looked up then and saw her, and his face twisted into an ugly sneer. 

“Here comes the little mudblood, just like clockwork,” he spat. 

“Excuse me?” She was used to Draco’s sneering, name-calling, and lousy attitude, but she’d drifted into a sense of relative ease lately, given how he seemed to be avoiding her. His slur caught her momentarily off guard, a lack of preparedness she would regret.

His wand was out and pointed at her before she could respond. She wasn’t expecting an attack in the halls of Hogwarts, although after everything that had transpired in the girls’ lavatory a few weeks ago, perhaps she should have been. 

_ “Petrificus totalis!” _

When the curse hit her, Hermione had her wand out, but had not managed to throw up a shield. She silently cursed her own stupidity for not shielding herself the moment she saw Lucius’s son. It had all happened so fast, but really, that was no excuse. ‘Constant vigilance’ and all that rot.

To her surprise, Malfoy did not let her fall flat onto the stone floor. He hit her almost immediately with a levitation spell and guided her frozen body to him, her bookbag trailing on the floor, the strap locked into her hand. 

“You can deny it all you want, mudblood, but I know you’re fucking my father,” he said in a disgusted half-whisper as he looked down at her. 

When her body was within arm’s reach, Malfoy grabbed her and steered her floating form into a nearby broom closet where he canceled the levitation spell and propped her against the shelves. 

“All of his talk about mudbloods soiling the magical world with their filth, and he’s soiling himself with YOU.”

She wanted to say something to him, anything, but her mouth remained frozen from the  _ petrificus  _ spell and she could only make muffled whimpers. He seemed so very angry, as if their confrontation in Myrtle’s bathroom had not even happened. She wanted to tell him that he’d seen her blood - a lot of it - and it was no dirtier than his own. She wanted to tell him that she loved Lucius, that Lucius loved the both of them. She wanted to tell him that she understood his anger - for surely it must be difficult to find out that your father was having an affair - but that his father had been so very unhappy in his marriage, and did he not deserve at least a little bit of happiness somewhere? 

He pointed his wand at her and applied what sounded like a sticking charm, binding her frozen form to the shelves behind her. She was unfamiliar with the spell though and was unsure how to counteract it once the  _ petrificus  _ wore off.

Draco sheathed his own wand and gripped the lapels of her robe, ripping it open to reveal her blouse and skirt underneath. Hermione stared back at him in horror, hoping that he was not about to sexually assault her. Lucius had been so adamant about teaching her to defend herself, and she’d managed to get locked into a closet by his own son! If only she could speak, she could warn him that Lucius would be angry if he harmed her.

Draco looked her up and down and then slid his hands over her waist and up her ribcage, his thumbs grazing the underside of her breasts. She could not move, could not shove him back or flinch from his touch. 

_ Please stop. Please stop. Please don’t touch me _ , she repeated in her head. It was incredibly disturbing to be able to feel his hands on her body but be so utterly defenseless.

“I wouldn’t have guessed it, given the frumpy robes and clothing you wear, but you’re not half bad, Granger,” he admitted. 

She tried to glare at him, furious that he’d dared touch her. 

“You know, if you wanted to fuck a Malfoy, I would have given you plenty of pureblood cock had I known you looked like this.” Mercifully, he did not grope her breasts, instead sliding his hands back down to her waist.

_ ‘I hate you. I hate you. I hate you, you foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach,’  _ she repeated silently in her head. 

“Someday, we’re going to have a lovely little chat, you and me, Granger, and you’re going to tell me all about how my father convinced Potter’s mudblood prude to spread her legs. Or did Potter and his weasel sidekick get to you first?”

Tears pricked her eyes at his ugly words, but she refused to let them fall, not when he had her at such a disadvantage. He noted the look in her eyes and smirked.

“I’m guessing not then. Pity I didn’t get to you before my father did. I never thought of him as the type to want to break in a virgin.”

He let go of her then, much to her enormous relief. 

“You might want to rethink your nightly sojourn to the library, Granger. You were all too easy to find. Still, I appreciate you making this easy for me. My father was adamant about keeping you out of the way,” he said with a shake of his head. “You must be bloody fantastic at sucking cock for him to care that much. Maybe he’ll reward me for this and share. I’d love to see you on your knees where you belong.” 

Wait, what? She tried to keep up with what he was saying. Lucius had something to do with this? Why would Lucius send Draco to keep her out of the way? Out of the way of what? Did he knew his son would lewdly insult and grope her? Surely not. What did Lucius know about whatever was about to happen?

He withdrew his wand again and pointed it at her, making her instinctively try to flinch even though she was frozen. He pried her own wand from her frozen hand and then tucked it into the pocket of her robes.

“I’m sure the witless wonder duo will find you eventually, but I need to know you’ll stay put for now. I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you to undo my spellwork.  _ Silencio _ !”

She screamed inside her head as he took her voice from her as well. Once the  _ petrificus _ wore off, she’d have to try to use nonverbal magic to free herself.

“I’ll be seeing you around, mudblood,” he said as he turned and walked out of the closet without so much as a backward glance. 

Anger coursed through her body as she heard the click of a lock and the sound of footsteps departing. He’d really left her there! He’d frozen her, stuck her to a set of shelves, robbed her of her voice, and left her locked in a closet. Had she been able to think rationally, it would have pleased her to know that he thought her skilled enough that he’d felt the need to enact multiple layers of protections against her magical abilities. She was angry enough though that this thought did not occur to her until much later. 

He must have wanted her to at least have a fighting chance though because he’d not taken her wand. Did Lucius tell him to leave her with her wand? Or was that Draco’s doing, in the hopes that she’d escape and participate in whatever was about to happen?

Of all the nights for something nefarious to go down at the castle! She knew Harry had left with Dumbledore before dinner for… something. Harry was deliberately vague about whatever mission they were on. Why did Lucius want her locked away? Was it to protect her? Or was he afraid she’d stop whatever was about to happen? 

This must be the task, whatever awful thing Voldemort had required of Draco. Draco was an awful git, but he wasn’t exactly an evil mastermind and the wards at Hogwarts were some of the strongest in the magical world, so how bad could whatever this was actually be? Was he to kill someone? She did not like Lucius’s son, not at all, especially now that he’d groped her and said such disgusting things to her, but she did not believe that he was a killer. She didn’t think he had it in him. 

She was unsure how long she stood there, awkwardly frozen and stuck to the shelf, but she knew  _ something  _ happened because she heard an unnaturally loud boom and what sounded like a crash. 

This was agony, absolute agony knowing that her friends and classmates could be injured or dying, and she was just STUCK here, waiting to either be rescued or for Malfoy’s bloody charms to wear off. She’d not yet learned how to wandlessly and nonverbally undo a _ petrificus totalis _ , but it was going to be one of the first things she looked into when she got out of here.

She heard more crashes, more screams, and the sound of people running. A horrible thought suddenly entered her mind: what if the castle was on fire? No one but Malfoy knew she was here, and she could burn to death before she was able to escape!

She forced herself to concentrate on her magic, on feeling it within herself. She tried to center herself mentally, as she did when she practised occulemency with Lucius, and focus on feeling her magic, extending it from the depths of her body to the tips of her fingers.

_ Mov _ e, she told herself.  _ Move. Move. Move. _

Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she was breathless with the effort, but finally,  _ finally _ she felt the first stirrings of movement in her fingertips. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been locked in the closet or how long the sounds of destruction and chaos had raged on the other side of the door, but at last the petrificus gave way, though whether it was from her own effort or simply Malfoy’s spell wearing off, she did not know. Hermione was able to awkwardly maneuver herself, stuck as she was, to withdraw her wand. Canceling the unfamiliar sticking charm non-verbally proved exceptionally difficult, and it took a great deal of concentration to undo the  _ silencio _ non-verbally as well.

By the time she unbound herself and was able to focus on canceling Malfoy’s locking spell on the door, her body ached from the strain of being frozen and stuck in place and from the effort of casting wandless, non-verbal magic.

“‘Mione? Hermione! Are you in there?” 

Ron! Yes, that was definitely Ron!

“Ron is that you?!”

“Yes! Are you alright?”

She heaved a sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m okay. Can you unlock the door?”

She waited as she heard him cast  _ alohomora _ several times, but the door remained stuck.

“There’s no muggle lock, and it’s not opening,” he called out in frustration. 

_ Fucking Malfoy _ , she though in irritation. There were any number of darker charms he could have used to lock her in, and she had no doubt Lucius would have taught him well. 

“Move away from the door, and let me see if I can blast it open,” she said.

When Ron called out that he was safely free from any blast zone, Hermione cast a protective shield on herself and cast a  _ bombardia maxima _ .

The door exploded into thousands of tiny shards and splinters of wood, scattering everywhere but bouncing harmlessly off her shield. 

Marauder’s map in hand, Ron rushed through the door and grabbed her, pulling her into a tight hug, which she accepted wearily.

He brushed her hair back from her sweaty face. “You okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Magical exhaustion. Malfoy hit me with a _ petrificus totalis _ , a sticking charm, and a  _ silencio _ , plus locked me in.”

His eyes widened almost comically. “And you freed yourself? Bloody hell, that’s impressive! Come on, we need to get out of here.”

He led her into the corridor, which was eerily silent.

“What happened? I heard a lot of noise after Malfoy left.”

The haunted look on his face was impossible to ignore. 

“Death Eaters. Malfoy let them in.”

She followed him through the halls, numb with shock and horror as he described seeing Malfoy with Bellatrix Lestrange, Fenrir Grayback and others. He was unsure how Malfoy had managed to slip them past the school’s wards, but his presence was the only explanation. She had a sinking feeling that Ron was correct - surely letting the Death Eaters into the school had been Draco’s task. According to Ron, the Order of the Phoenix had been notified, and a skirmish ensued, which explained all of the blasting she’d heard. Ron’s older brother Bill had been injured and was currently in the hospital wing but would survive. 

“How did it end?” she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“They left.”

“What do you mean they left?”

“I mean, they left - the Death Eaters who came in, plus Malfoy and Snape. Harry saw them leave, and Snape hexed him as they left. Come on, McGonagall’s gathering everyone in the Great Hall.”

She stopped abruptly. “What are you not telling me?”

Ron turned when he realised she was no longer beside him, and he looked as if he’d aged years in the span of an evening.

“Dumbledore’s dead. Harry said Snape killed him.”

 

~oOo~

 

She was numb. She’d been numb since she escaped from that broom closet. Dumbledore was dead. Harry had witnessed Snape kill him. She’d insisted to the boys for months that Dumbledore was surely afflicted by some sort of dark curse, but she’d never expected that Snape would be the one to end their headmaster. 

Harry, who’d just returned to the castle with Dumbledore, witnessed the entire thing. According to him, Malfoy had let the Death Eaters in through a broken vanishing cabinet in the Room of Requirement, disarmed their headmaster, and held him at wand-point until the Death Eaters and Snape arrived. It had all been some sort of twisted test of Voldemort’s loyalty, forcing Snape to kill Dumbledore. Malfoy left with Snape and the others and had apparently not been seen since.

In his anger over the death of his mentor, Harry had lashed out at her for all the times she’d defended Malfoy in the previous months, stating that he wished he’d hit “the smarmy ferret” with the  _ sectumsempra _ curse. He still refused to listen to her suspicions that Dumbledore was dying anyway, and by the time Sirius and the rest of the Order showed up for the funeral, she and Harry were barely speaking. 

He and Ron had both questioned her extensively about why Malfoy had locked her in the closet, and she’d been unable to tell them it was apparently because Lucius wanted to protect her from Greyback and the others. She’d been forced to make up a lie that she’d simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Malfoy had hexed her to stop her from going for help. Mad Eye Moody did not look as if he believed her, but there had been enough disorder following Dumbledore’s death that he’d not taken it upon himself to question her. 

It wasn’t until after Dumbledore’s funeral that Harry finally pulled her and Ron aside to tell them what he’d learned about horcruxes from Professor Slughorn and from Dumbledore and how he and the late headmaster had journeyed into the depths of a cave to retrieve a horcrux, only to find out it was a fake. Hermione was horrified. Harry easily could have been killed by the inferi in the cave. What kind of headmaster sends a teenager into a situation like that? 

Despite his dismay that the locket was a replica, the idea that they now actually knew how Voldemort had survived a rebound of the killing curse in 1981 and how he could be killed today had lifted Harry’s spirits tremendously. 

“But you don’t know what the other horcruxes may be?” Hermione clarified.

“No, but we know that Dumbledore destroyed one - a ring belonging to Voldemort’s grandfather - and I destroyed his diary in the Chamber of Secrets in second year. We know the necklace is number three,” Harry said. “Dumbledore thought that perhaps there were six.”

Six. He’d split His soul _ six _ times. The very thought was staggering. Lucius had described Him as unstable, and this would certainly explain why. 

“I find the necklace and the other three items, I destroy them, and then I kill him.” His tone was grim, as if he’d accepted the enormity of what fate and destiny had required him to do. 

“You won’t be alone, Harry. I’ll come with you,” Ron volunteered, hopping down from the railing and offering their friend a hug.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Harry said. “I can’t ask anyone else to risk their lives for me.”

Ron punched him lightly in the arm. “Won’t be the first time we’ve done something crazy for you. Why stop now? We’re in this together, mate.”

Harry looked both relieved and grateful, and then he turned to look at her.

She knew then, immediately, what she would do. There was no other option really. Voldemort had to be stopped. He had to be stopped to make the world safe for her and for other muggleborns, and to finally free Lucius from his forced servitude. There could be no happiness for her in a world ruled by the Dark Lord.

“I’m in too,” she said. “If you’ll have me.”

She waited with bated breath for a response from Harry before a slow smile spread across his face.

“Of course I’ll have you. After all you’re the brains of this whole outfit,” he said. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

She flung herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around him and Ron both. 


	20. Seventh Year, Part 1, 1997

###  Seventh Year Part 1, 1997

 

She made a perfunctory return to her parents’ home after leaving Hogwarts, but as soon as she could, she port-keyed to the lodge in Scotland to meet her lover, arriving back in Scotland on what she learned was just two days after Draco’s 17th birthday.

Lucius was deeply appreciative of what she’d done for Draco, how she’d taken the  _ sectumsempra _ curse for him, but it was overshadowed by his anger and grief: the Dark Lord had marked Draco as a Death Eater on his birthday. Her heart broke for Lucius that day. Her lover raged for hours, yelling as he destroyed and then magically repaired parts of the lodge before venturing outside to magically explode boulders.

Through his angry outburst, she learned that Draco’s task had been to find a way to get Death Eaters through the wards at Hogwarts, that finding the vulnerability in the school’s armour would send a larger message to the wizarding world: there is nowhere you can hide from Lord Voldemort. She had to admit it was a chilling message. The Death Eaters were there to wreak havoc, cause terror, and to witness Severus Snape’s murder of Albus Dumbledore. As a ‘reward’ for his success, Draco was ‘permitted’ to witness Snape cast the  _ avada kedavra _ and was later given the dark mark, something the Dark Lord apparently considered a great ‘honour.’ 

“The whole thing, the whole bloody fucking thing was about testing Severus! About making him PROVE his loyalty! Severus is loyal! And the old bastard was dying already!” Lucius raged.

Hermione frowned. She’d not realised that the Order’s spy was in such a precarious position with the Dark Lord. Then again, Severus could not exactly be counted as a spy, not anymore. Not after what he’d done to Dumbledore. She hadn’t gotten along with the late headmaster, not since learning he’d violated her mind, but that didn’t mean she wanted him dead. The Order was in chaos now with Dumbledore gone, and there was widespread panic that Snape had been privy to so many details about their comings and goings. She couldn’t help but wonder where Severus Snape’s loyalties truly lie. 

She was drawn from her thoughts by the crash of a large birch tree, felled by Lucius’s magic, and she moved quickly out of reach of the falling branches. At one time this expression of anger would have terrified her, but now his obvious love for his son only endeared him further to Hermione. Maybe once he was calm, she could talk to him about Draco’s crude comments and actions the night of Dumbledore’s death. She used her magic to erect a shield around herself to block any falling debris and waited patiently for Lucius to either let out all of his anger or exhaust himself. 

When he finally calmed, she took him inside, and he took her up against the stone wall in the great hall and then again in the bedroom where he murmured soft words of gratitude as his fingers traced the faint scars left behind from Harry’s curse. He slept fitfully beside her that night, and when she woke the next morning, he was already awake, watching her from a wingback chair by the fireplace, a pensive look on his face. She was unsettled enough by his silence and his expression that she opted to keep the conversation light that morning.

It was not until later that day that he brought up the uncomfortable subject of her parents.

“Tell me, pet, are your parents aware of just how much danger you are potentially in?” 

They were seated at the kitchen table in the home in Scotland that she’d come to think of as theirs, enjoying a light meal of cheeses, bread, olives, and wine, Lucius in his trousers, and Hermione in his shirt. Her parents believed she was spending a few days with a friend from school.

“No, of course not. There’s so much I can’t tell them. I made that decision a long time ago. Telling them the truth about what I’ve experienced at school, what’s happening in our world...they’d never let me stay at Hogwarts. I’m an adult in the magical world and have been for some time now, but not in the muggle world.”

“Do they know how much danger  _ they _ are in?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the suddenly frightened expression on her face.

“They’re...they’re  _ dentists _ , Lucius, muggle healers for teeth. They’re of no consequence to anyone!”

He sipped his wine and looked disdainfully at her.

“You disappoint me. I had thought you brighter than that. You are widely known as Potter’s close friend, and depending on how much one believes of the gossip in what passes for the newspaper, also possibly his paramour. Many followers of the Dark Lord would happily go through you to get to Potter,” he said.

“Yes, through ME. Not my parents. My parents have nothing to do with this. They’re… they’re just muggles!”

“And you are a witch. You cannot straddle both worlds. You cannot expect to garner any respect in our world if you insist on holding onto your muggle connections.”

She recoiled at the words coming from her lover’s mouth, even though she’d had similar traitorous thoughts of her own over the years. 

“Pet, if I wanted to go through you to get to Potter, I’d use your parents to do it. If I could pull your file as a member of the Board of Governors, then so can Severus, so can anyone else with access and ill intent. Once that file is in hand, it’s a simple matter of apparating to your parents home,” he said gently.

“I...I can ward their home. I’m very good with wards. I’ve been practising,” she stammered.

“Mmmm, I know you have. They won’t stay in their home all the time though, will they? They’ll leave at some point, and when they do, the Dark Lord will have them killed if He decides it’s worth His time.”

Her heart twisted painfully in her chest at the thought. Her parents hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t asked for any of it. If they could go back and do it all over again, they’d probably have preferred to just have a normal muggle child. Her magic had terrified her parents, who’d sought a scientific explanation for what she could do. Once she was accepted at Hogwarts, magic slowly drove a wedge between them. She loved her parents dearly. They were really the only family she had, but she knew that if they saw her, really saw who and what she’d become, they’d never accept it. They would never want to believe that their sweet little Hermione was in love with a much older, married wizard, a wizard who bore the mark of a violent, fascist, would-be dictator and madman. They would never approve of their only child fighting in a war and risking her life time and time again. But even if they wouldn’t recognise the witch she was today, she owed it to them to do whatever she could to save their lives.

“I don’t know how to protect them,” she admitted in a tearful whisper. “Lucius, I know they’re just muggles to you, but they’re my  _ parents _ . I can’t just let Him kill them.”

He stroked her hair sympathetically. 

“You need to cut ties to them, and they need to get as far from you as possible.”

She thought about it for a long moment. “Would Australia be far enough? They’ve talked for some time about wanting to retire there.”

“Perhaps. They will need a new identity, and Hermione Granger can no longer exist for them.”

“Are you… are you suggesting that I  _ obliviate _ them? Remove myself from their minds? That’s… Lucius, that could kill them or drive them insane.”

“No. Not anything as crude as an  _ obliviate _ . I have a book in the library that has a spell in it that merges a memory charm with a variant of the imperius that should suffice.”

“It’s dark magic.”

“It is.” 

“You want me to wield dark magic against my parents,” she whispered in horror.

He leaned forward and stared intently at her. “No, pet. I want you to prove that you belong here. I want you to send them away because letting them stay will certainly lead to their deaths. How is it truly  _ dark _ if it saves their lives?” 

She swallowed hard as she looked at the wizard she loved. In all her thoughts about how to best prepare for the horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron, she’d neglected to think about protecting her parents. Lucius Malfoy, pureblood wizard, Death Eater, had thought about her muggle parents’ safety before she had, and he had given her the tool she needed to save their lives.

“Will you help me? Learn the spell? I...I don’t want to make a mistake with their minds.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “But of course.”

For a year, he’d tempted her with knowledge about a whole area of magic she’d never known. She did not realise it at the time, but it had all led to this. The desire to protect her parents would lead her to wield dark magic, to use it against another person for the first time. It would not be the last.

 

~oOo~

 

The day she took her parents’ memories marked a turning point in her life that felt as momentous to Hermione as the day she met Lucius in Flourish & Blotts or the day she gave him the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries. She’d experienced a bit of the physical sensations involved with using dark magic whilst practising with Lucius, but actually using it against a defenseless person was indescribable. She felt raw, unsettled. 

As soon as it was done, she used her bracelet to portkey to the house in Scotland and message Lucius. When he arrived, he found her in a sobbing heap on the floor.  She clung to him, and he tore at her clothes, taking her violently on the oushak rug in front of the fireplace as she sobbed and dragged her nails painfully down his back. It was animalistic and out of control and somehow exactly what she needed. Afterward, he wrapped her in a blanket and fed her small pieces of fine chocolate and told her how proud he was of her. She basked in his praise and told herself how lucky she was to have him. 

She stayed with him there for three weeks, alternating between frantic and meticulous planning for what was to come with Harry and Ron and curling her body around Lucius and pretending the rest of the world did not exist. Lucius came and went during this time, sometimes carrying his Death Eater robes and mask. Her heart always twisted at the sight of the mask, but she did not ask where he went or what he did in his service to a cruel master, and he did not press her overmuch about her plans with Harry. It was tense, it was odd, it was wonderful all at once. 

In the hours and days when she could pretend they were just an ordinary couple, she wondered what their lives would be like had there been no Voldemort. It hurt her to remember that even in a world free of the Dark Lord, he would still be married to a cold and unfeeling wife who did not love him, and she would still be relegated to being...whatever she was. His lover. His secret. She hesitated to think of herself as his mistress, but in a world free from the chaos of war, that’s probably what she would have been. 

But then, if it weren’t for Voldemort and His desire to get to the prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, would she have even had the opportunity to make such a blatant overture to Lucius? She decided that summer in Scotland that yes, she probably would have found  _ some _ way to make her feelings known to the handsome wizard she now loved.

Two days before her planned departure for the Burrow, they sat in the library together, Hermione combing through texts Lucius had brought to her from Malfoy Manor’s enormous library and making copious notes. He sat beside her, watching in silence for a rather long time before he finally spoke up.

“I admire your faith in Potter, and in the prophecy, but can you be certain that the Dark Lord can even be killed? He has returned once before. I was there when He was resurrected. Even if Potter succeeds in getting close enough to Him to cast the killing curse, He will simply return again,” he said with a frown. 

“So you expect me to do nothing? Lucius, they’ve taken over the Ministry. Umbridge wants to round up muggleborns and throw them in jail for ‘stealing’ magic. As if such a thing were even possible!” she cried. “How can you expect me to do nothing? How am I to survive in a world ruled by the Dark Lord?” 

He plucked her quill from her fingers and tossed it aside before pulling her closer to him.

“I will protect you if it comes to that,” he murmured. “I may not be there by choice, but I am in the inner circle. He respects me, as much as He respects anyone. I will keep you safe.”

Her initial reaction was to want to bask in the glow of his affection, to feel joy at the idea that he cared so much for her that he would promise to protect her, even from Voldemort. She knew though that there was only so much Lucius could do. He’d been unable to prevent Voldemort from marking Draco, after all, and she knew no one mattered as much to Lucius as his son. 

She wrapped her arms around him and allowed herself a few moments of contentment in his embrace. 

He did not know, she realised. He did not know that there was a way to end this all. 

Harry had been adamant about keeping secret the knowledge that Voldemort had made horcruxes. She personally thought that letting the Order in on the secret would mean more people available to help search, but Harry refused. Not even Sirius knew that the trio’s upcoming mission was a horcrux hunt. 

But if Lucius knew… she twisted the end of a lock of his long blond hair in her fingers as she considered the possibility. He was brilliant, he’d taught her so much already - valuable knowledge that she was passing on to Harry when she could. Lucius had helped her protect her parents and had just insisted he’d do what he could to protect her from the Dark Lord. Lucius knew so much about darker magics and had entire libraries at his disposal. He’d be a tremendous assistance to her in the task that lie ahead, she was certain of it.

But to tell him… Harry would consider it the worst sort of betrayal that she’d dare take a Death Eater into confidence about their plans. And Ron… well, Ron would never understand her love for Lucius. He’d probably think her under the _ imperius _ curse. If she confided in Lucius, she would have to keep it from her dearest friends. She’d kept the secret of her love for Lucius thus far though. This was just one more little detail she’d need to keep to herself. She could do that. Besides, she rationalised, it could hardly be considered a bad thing if betraying Harry’s confidence ultimately led to Voldemort’s downfall. It was for the greater good, wasn’t it? 

“You are terribly quiet, pet. What are you thinking?” Lucius asked softly.

Hermione pushed back from his embrace and touched his cheek gently with her fingertips. “It means so much to me that you are concerned for my safety, but you cannot guarantee my protection.”

His jaw tightened, and she knew instinctively that she’d just reminded him of his inability to protect his own son. She pressed on quickly though before he could get upset.

“I don’t wish to argue with you about it, but the fact of the matter is that He CAN be killed Lucius! He’s not immortal, not truly! He made horcruxes!” Her heart pounded as she pushed out the words, as she told her Death Eater lover one of the greatest secrets Harry and the light had. 

His mouth opened and then closed as he seemed to gather his thoughts. He looked ill. 

“Horcruxes?” 

“You know what they are?” she asked. She’d thought perhaps she’d have to explain it to him. From what Harry had told her and what she’d been able to learn thus far, horcruxes seemed to be an obscure bit of magic.

“I do, pet,” he said gravely. “It is horrible magic of the darkest sort.”

“We have to find them and destroy them. We’ve already destroyed two - His diary, and a ring owned by His mother’s family. We know that another one is a necklace that belonged to Salazar Slytherin. We thought we’d found it, but… well, it doesn’t matter. We need to locate it and destroy it and then try to figure out what else He might have used.”

“He did this more than once??”

She nodded.

“How many times do you believe He did this, split His soul?” 

“I don’t know how many times it’s possible,” she admitted. “I would not have thought it would be doable more than even once. Harry says that Professor Dumbledore thought that there were perhaps six?”

Lucius was ghastly pale and looked horrified at the number.  “SIX?” 

She nodded, and he looked away, appearing to be deep in thought. 

“So you’ve destroyed one third, almost one half once you locate the necklace,” he finally said.

“Do you have any idea what the others might be?” she asked eagerly.

“I’m afraid not, pet,” he admitted. “Wait - you said the diary was a horcrux? The diary that I…”

“That you gave Ginny Weasley? Yes, it was a horcrux. Harry says it’s the first one He ever made.”

He looked both shocked and contrite. “I knew it teemed with dark magic. That much was obvious to anyone familiar enough with darker magics to know what to look for. I did not know it held a piece of Him. You must know that I would not have given that to a child had I know what it was.”

“I know. I know you wouldn’t. But it’s for the best that you did give it to her because now it’s destroyed instead of safely locked up somewhere at your home,” she pointed out.

“Indeed. I retrieved the damaged diary from young Mr. Potter at the end of your second year. It actually IS locked up somewhere in my home, or what’s left of it anyway. The Dark Lord is aware that I still have it. However, as I am still alive, it is apparent that He does not know the horcrux within it was destroyed.”

“Oh but that’s wonderful! It means He doesn’t know how far we’ve come!” 

“But you have no idea what else could be out there. It could be anything, couldn’t it?” he asked.

“I suppose so,” she admitted.

“A pebble on a beach? A book in a library? A randomly chosen galleon locked in a vault?”

Her face fell at his words as the enormity of their task loomed before her.

“I...yes, yes, you’re right. It could be any or all of those things, but my gut feeling - and Harry’s too - is that they’re something special, something significant.”

“And if you destroy all of these things, whatever they are…”

“He can be killed.”

“You are certain of this?”

She nodded. “Lucius, I know that you’re trapped, that you’re doing what you can to protect your son, but if we end this...if Harry can fulfill the prophecy and finally put an end to the Dark Lord, you’ll be _free_! You won’t have to answer to anyone!”

“Oh pet.” He kissed her forehead and tucked her head back into the crook of his neck. “I am a condemned wizard no matter what.”

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. “No! Don’t say that!”

“If the Dark Lord wins, if He destroys Potter, then my only means of survival is to continue as I have been since He returned. I will protect Draco, and I will protect you, but my life is not my own.”

“Which is all the more reason for you to help as much as you can!” 

“And if Potter by some miracle manages to locate and destroy all of these horcruxes and defeat the Dark Lord, what then, pet? I am a marked Death Eater. I am in the inner circle. My son let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, resulting in Dumbledore’s death. I know, the old man was dying anyway from that curse, but most are unaware of that. Draco and I will likely both either face the kiss or a life sentence in Azkaban.”

“You didn’t choose this, and I know Draco didn’t want this either. You’ve already helped me so much just with the books and the lessons you’ve provided. I know you don’t want anyone to know that you’re helping me, but Lucius, anything you can do, any information you can share with me that helps us, I can use to help you and Draco after this all ends. No matter happens, we’ll protect each other,” she insisted. “I will make sure the Order knows what you’ve done for me, for all of us.”

He sighed and stroked her hair. “I don’t deserve you, pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of you wanted Hermione to tell Lucius exactly what Draco said and did the night Dumbledore died. I wrote out part of that scene in response to reader feedback, but it didn't feel right. I ultimately left it out because at the end of the day, it did not advance the plot itself. I believe that Hermione had every intention of telling Lucius and demanding to know just what kind of conversation he had with his son before the Death Eaters were let into the castle, but between the time of Dumbledore's death and her time at the lodge, Draco was marked, Lucius was beside himself, then the issue of her parents' safety arose. There were bigger issues than his son being a jerk, and while I don't think she's forgotten about it, I do think she's pragmatic enough that she'd set it aside and focus the important issues ahead. So the plot marches on, Hermione takes another step into the dark, and Lucius now knows what Harry must do to end Voldemort.


	21. Seventh Year, Part 2, 1997

###  Seventh Year, Part 2, 1997

 

It broke her heart to say goodbye to Lucius, but she told herself that the sooner they found a way to end Voldemort, the sooner she could return to her lover, for good. What exactly she was going to do about the existence of one Narcissa Malfoy, Hermione really did not know, but just as she had all morally dubious deeds since she fell for Lucius, she decided that his wife really did not matter. If Lucius being married before the end of the war did not prevent them from being together than neither would it after the war. They would simply find a way to make it work. It was unlike her to shrug off a problem as big as her lover’s marital status, but with war looming, she had more pressing concerns.

She went on the run with Harry and Ron sooner than expected, when Death Eaters crashed Bill and Fleur Weasley’s wedding reception. She thought she recognised Lucius’s mask in the chaos, but Harry apparated them away before she could be certain. Luckily she had her beaded bag on her at the wedding. She’d taken to carrying it everywhere, as it contained everything she thought they might need on the horcrux hunt all tucked into the bag, courtesy of undetectable extension and lightweight charms Lucius helped her perfect. 

They moved into Grimmauld Place, which Sirius had abandoned following Dumbledore’s death. Once the headmaster was gone, Harry’s godfather had felt free to escape the prison of his childhood and live elsewhere. He’d moved into what Harry said was a small cottage in the Cotswalds, a place that now served as the de facto Order headquarters. Grimmauld Place had been abandoned by the light, making it an ideal place for them to hide. Sirius had left Kreacher behind at Grimmauld, which made both happier, although the grizzled old elf was rather put out at the idea of ‘blood traitors and mudbloods’ in the house again when the trio set up residence there.

Hunting for horcruxes turned out to be far more tedious and dull than any of them had expected. Voldemort’s forces seized control of the Ministry that summer, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione now had high prices on their heads as ‘undesirables.’ They were unable to set foot outside of Grimmauld Place without use of polyjuice or heavy glamour charms. They saw scant little of other members of the Order, most of whom were busy with their own battles. 

Sirius, despite his tremendous dislike for Grimmauld Place, visited them on a semi-regular basis and acted as a quasi-official link between the trio and the Order. He was more than a bit put out by Harry’s unwillingness to tell him what the trio had planned. Harry would only say that they had a mission from Dumbledore that would help them end Voldemort. 

It took a great deal of back and forth between Harry, Hermione, and Ron, but Harry did finally  confide in his godfather about the need to find the locket and the mysterious R.A.B., and it was Sirius who figured out that his own deceased brother, Regulus Arcturus Black, had hidden the real locket. Thanks to Sirius’s help, the trio discovered that the locket had been in Grimmauld Place this entire time, held in trust by Kreacher, who was still deeply loyal to “Master Regulus.” However, this early success quickly turned to frustration when she, Ron, and Harry realised they had no way to destroy the cursed necklace. Still, they were making progress. She tried to keep focused on that.

The highlights of this time period were the all too brief messages she shared with Lucius through her bracelet, almost always exchanged late at night. The tidbits of information he passed on to her about new rules coming down from the Ministry were frightening, particularly given how much they reminded her of Nazi Germany. The very idea that a muggleborn baby could somehow ‘steal’ magic from a pureblood child, thus rendering that individual a squib was so blatantly absurd. She was utterly horrified that otherwise rational people could believe such nonsense. It was perhaps for the best that she was hidden away at Grimmauld Place, for she doubted she could have kept quiet in public in the face of such ignorance and injustice.

 

~oOo~

 

For more than a year following that fateful day in the Ministry when she’d handed Lucius the prophecy, the two had danced metaphorically around the war and the roles they would play in it. She knew that Lucius, a consummate Slytherin, would do what he had to survive and to protect his son and her, but she’d held out hope that if she extended an olive branch to him, an opportunity to help the light, he would take it. Given their agreement that he would share what information he could, she began to lay the groundwork with Sirius, telling him that she had a contact who was connected to someone close to Voldemort’s inner circle, and that she was hopeful this anonymous person would be able to pass information to her. 

She was overjoyed one sweltering August night when Lucius messaged her through the bracelet to let her know about an upcoming Death Eater attack on a wizarding village in Surrey. 

This was it! It was the move she’d been waiting for! He’d gone from helping her indirectly by providing training and education to helping her directly by sharing covert information! 

“You need to contact Sirius, using the mirror,” Hermione said as she came up behind Harry in the kitchen, her presence startling him and making him spill his tea.

“What? Why?” he asked, giving her an annoyed glance as he mopped up the tea he’d spilt on his shirt. 

“I have news that he needs!” She knew Harry was staring at her with more than a little bit of concern, and she couldn’t blame him really, not when she knew she was standing there with an absurdly maniacal grin on her face. She was so happy about Lucius’s direct action to aid Harry and the Light that she couldn’t contain her excitement.

“What? What news?” he asked.

“Just contact him, and I’ll tell you both together,” she said impatiently, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from his tea. 

Ron had fallen asleep on the sofa and was snoring lightly, so rather than wake him, she and Harry quietly made their way upstairs and used his magical handheld mirror to reach out to Sirius.

“How’s my favorite godson?” Sirius’s twinkling eyes and broad smile filled the small mirror. 

“I’m your only godson,” Harry said wryly. 

“Thus far, pup. Thus far. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, um, Hermione asked me to call you. I honestly don’t know why,” Harry admitted sheepishly, running his fingers through his messy black hair.

She reached over and took the mirror from Harry.

“Sirius, I need you to get the Order together. There’s going to be a Death Eater attack on the wizarding village near Farnham on Wednesday night.”

At once Sirius’s expression turned, well, serious. 

“Where did you hear that?” he asked in a low voice. 

“I...I can’t say.”

“Hermione.”

“No, I mean it. I have a source, someone I’ve been working with discreetly for some time now, and this person is finally willing to share information we can use. This could save lives!” she insisted.

“Or risk lives if they’re wrong or if it’s a trap,” Harry pointed out.

“It’s not a trap.”

“You can’t be sure of that,” Sirius replied.

“I am. I...I would trust this person with my life,” she said carefully, ignoring the gobsmacked expression on Harry’s face.

“Hermione, you’ve got to give me more to go on than ‘Hermione Granger says it’s so,’” Sirius said. “I don’t know that that’s going to be the most compelling argument before the Order.”

“The Order,” Harry scoffed. “You and I both know the Order is in disarray now that Dumbledore’s gone.”

“Sirius, please! You have to believe me!” she insisted before the conversation could devolve into a debate about Order politics. “A team of Death Eaters is going to target the village on Wednesday night. There’s an apothecary there that supplies potions to St. Mungo’s and has been slipping needed potions to some of the Order members. They’re going to kill the owner and burn the apothecary to the ground.”

Harry’s godfather swore under his breath, confirming for Hermione that the apothecary was indeed an important resource. “Okay. I’ll talk to Remus, Kingsley, and the others, and I’ll see what we can do.”

“We’ll help you,” Harry said immediately.

“No, you won’t!” Sirius said firmly. “I don’t know what your mission is, but if it came from Dumbledore, if it’s vital to ending Voldemort, then you need to stay focused on that. That goes for all three of you? Do you understand me? If this information is correct, if there’s truly to be an attack in Farnham, I don’t want to see any of you there. Understood?” 

They both mumbled a yes before Sirius cut off the connection to their call.

Harry had a queer expression on his face.

“What is it?” she asked.

“That...that tone of voice he took at the end. He almost sounded like, like a  _ dad _ ,” he said, a hint of wonder in his own voice.

“He loves you, Harry, and he was meant to raise you. It’s what your parents wanted. It’s a good thing he sounds like a dad. Besides, he’s right: our job is to find the rest of the horcruxes.”

He tucked the mirror back into his trunk and frowned at her.

“Where  _ did  _ you get this information about the attack near Farnham?” he asked.

“I really can’t say,” she said firmly.

“Not even to me?” 

The hurt look on his face twisted at her heartstrings. 

“I’m sorry, Harry. I made contact with someone who has information, and it’s, well, it wasn’t planned the way it happened, but I’ve spent a long time getting this person to trust me, and I can’t betray that trust now.”

He looked distinctly unhappy with her.

“You’re certain it’s not a trap?”

“As certain as I can be,” she replied in a hushed voice. Now she just had to hope and pray that Lucius’s information was correct.

 

~oOo~

 

Harry had relayed the word of a possible attack in Farnham to Ron, and as Wednesday night turned into Thursday, she, Harry, and Ron waited near the mirror for a response from Sirius. Hermione was agitated all evening, filled with nervous energy.

Would the Order show up? Would the Death Eaters? Lucius had told her of the planned attack, but plans could change. If something happened at the last minute to prevent the Death Eaters from showing up, how was she to get the Order to trust her again with any news?

Would Lucius be there? She wanted to cringe at the thought of her friends and allies in the Order firing on her lover. Lucius valued self-preservation, she reminded herself. Surely he would not risk capture or injury on this night. 

She knew Harry and Ron were watching her and were a bit confused about her level of anxiety, and she tried to remain as calm as possible, despite her fears. Waiting was such agony.

They eventually all drifted off to sleep in the parlor, with no word about the possible Death Eater attack.

The sun was still rising when the sound of the floo jerked Hermione from sleep. They’d charmed the fireplace to only permit certain people to even call, and only Sirius could come through the floo and only then from his cottage. She awkwardly pushed herself into a sitting position as a bedraggled looking Sirius stumbled out of the fireplace, his hair wild and his face tinged with soot.

“Sirius! What happened? Are you okay?” Harry asked as he leapt from the sofa.

Sirius held up his hands in a gesture meant to calm the trio before engulfing Harry in a hug. 

“I’m fine. A little bit worse for wear, but nothing compared to how I looked after Azkaban,” he said reassuredly as he ruffled Harry’s hair.

He turned to Hermione then. “Good job, kiddo. I don’t know who your source is, but they were absolutely right.”

“So the Death Eaters did attack?” she asked breathlessly as she stood as well.

He flopped down on the sofa and yelled at Kreacher to bring him a butterbeer, immediately. Hermione cringed at the harsh tone Harry’s godfather used with the elderly elf. Kreacher did as he was ordered, but he grumbled the whole time about the filthy blood traitors and mudblood “defiling the home of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

“Yes. Moody, Remus, and I took a small team in,” Sirius said. “We warned the apothecary owner ahead of time, and he brought in a few other wizards to help defend the place. Those bastards in black didn’t know what hit them.”

Hermione swallowed the bile in her throat at the thought of Harry’s godfather firing curses at Lucius. Had he been there that night? Was he safe?

“Several of them got away, but we captured Rodolphus Lestrange. A wizard we’re pretty sure was Antonin Dolohov died as well,” Sirius said after a long sip of his drink.

“Dolohov!” Harry exclaimed.

“Nasty bastard, that one,” Sirius said with a sigh. 

“He was at the Department of Mysteries!” Ron exclaimed. 

“Yes, he was the one who wanted to kill everyone but me,” Harry said darkly. “Good riddance.”

Hermione’s eyes widened at Harry’s statement. He’d always been firmly in the light and not one to wish death on others, so she wondered if Dumbledore’s death and Snape’s defection had toughened Harry to the realities of war. She did not like the idea of killing anyone, but if it meant protecting herself or Harry or Lucius, she was willing to use whatever means necessary. 

Sirius gulped his butterbeer. “Unfortunately he managed to wound Moody before we took him down.”

“Is he alright?” Ron asked.

“That tough old bastard? He’ll be out of the line of fire for some time, but he’s too mean to die,” Sirius said with a bit of a snort. “Tonks was trying to drag him out of the line of fire to portkey him to St. Mungo’s, and he was yelling at her the whole time that he wasn’t about to leave a battle before it was over.”

Hermione could certainly picture it. 

“Did we lose anyone?” she asked.

He shook his head. “No. It was obvious the Death Eaters weren’t expecting much in the way of resistance when they showed up. There were some curses, some burns - they did set fire to part of the building, but we got it put out before it did too much damage. We were able to erect new wards around the apothecary too, in case they come back for it. Listen, I can’t stay long - we’ve got to figure out what to do with Lestrange - but I knew you’d worry, so I wanted to come by personally.” 

“I appreciate it,” Harry said.

“What do you mean what to do with Lestrange?” she asked. She hated to admit that her automatic thought was that when you captured the bad guys, you called the Aurors, and the bad guys went to jail, end of story.

“With Voldemort’s puppet minister in place, there’s not much reason to turn Lestrange over to the Ministry. Voldemort’s already broken Lestrange and others out of Azkaban, so there doesn’t seem much point in sending him back.”

“Off him,” Ron said quickly.

She stared at him in shock.

“What?” Ron shrugged. “S’not like he’d offer you any kindness if he caught you.”

Sirius sighed. “Unfortunately he’s right - about how he’d treat you, not about killing prisoners of war. We can’t risk letting him escape, and we don’t exactly have a prison as secure as Azkaban used to be.”

He looked around the room and the three teenagers, at the concerned look on Harry’s face and the thoughtful expression on Hermione’s. “Look, don’t worry about Lestrange. Let the rest of the Order worry about some of this stuff. You focus on whatever it is you have to do with that necklace and whatever else your mission is. And Hermione, if there’s anything else your source can share with you, please let me know right away.”

“I will,” she promised.

He finished his butterbeer and then hugged Harry before departing, leaving the trio alone again.

The room was silent for a long moment before Harry offered her a lopsided grin. “Well. That went better than I expected.”

“Who’s your source?” Ron asked sharply before she could respond to Harry.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. “I’ve told you, Ron, I am not at liberty to share that information.”

“Someone in the know enough so share information that let us take out Dolohov and Lestrange is helping you, and I want to know who it is! How is someone getting information to you?” he challenged.

She rolled her eyes in response. “And I’ve told you that I cannot -  _ will not _ \- compromise my source. What happened in Farnham is proof that we have a person on the inside who is willing to help us. Let it go at that, Ron.”

He let go of it for the time being, but Hermione knew the matter was far from settled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little bit shorter, but I had it ready and didn’t want to wait to post it. Seventh Year has been both fun and extremely challenging for me to write – it has far more action/fighting than the rest of the story, and I’ve had to think long and hard about how the horcrux hunt might go with Sirius alive and with Lucius sharing bit and pieces of information with Hermione. I’m still writing seventh year, and I’m pretty nervous about getting it right. I really appreciate all of your feedback – the good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in between. Thank you for reading!  
> -Elle


	22. Seventh Year, Part 3, 1997

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to address some pacing comments I’ve had here and on FF. Hermione and her friends are hunting horcruxes. I realize this took the bulk of the Deathly Hallows book, but here they’re aided by Lucius and by Sirius, and their situation is a bit different and allows the hunt to move at a different speed than in canon. Throughout this story there have been skips in time, and that is true for 7th year as well. I cannot and will not cover everything, and I don’t want the plot to get lost in endless scenes of relationship/smut between Hermione and Lucius. There are still many chapters to come in this story, as it won’t end until sometime after the war. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, following, and sharing your thoughts with me! 
> 
> -Elle

###  **Seventh Year Part 3, 1997**

An odd tension descended on Grimmauld Place after the Order’s successful defense of the apothecary in Farnham. As it turned out, Sirius was wrong about Moody. The “tough old bastard,” weakened from injuries sustained at the Farnham attack, succumbed to dragon pox just a few weeks later. His death was a stark reminder for Hermione that they could all be killed at any time. She felt badly for Moody, knowing that he’d died because of something she set into motion by sharing information from Lucius, but in the grand scheme of things, protecting the apothecary meant that many more lives were spared as life-saving potions were funneled to various members of the Order. She wasn’t sure if she could have shared that information with the Order knowing it would lead to Moody’s death, but she could not regret it in hindsight, especially since they also took out Antonin Dolohov and Rodolphus Lestrange. It twisted something inside of her to know that she was thinking of human lives in such a callous manner. She knew she would not have done so just a year ago.

Any relevant information Hermione received from Lucius, she passed along to Sirius. Sometimes it was a small detail, sometimes it was something big like the Farnham attack. Each time, his intelligence was correct, and each time the Order was able to capture or kill Death Eaters of some importance. Hermione knew Harry and Ron were suspicious of her source, but she remained steadfast in her desire to protect her lover.

That autumn, when she and her friends should have been at Hogwarts, Hermione finally received a summons from Lucius. She was beyond grateful for the bracelet and the power it gave her to portkey silently out of Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night, still dressed in her pajamas.

She stumbled when she landed in the lodge, alone in that dark-paneled sitting room.

“Lucius?” she asked, turning around to look for her lover.

She startled when the imposing figure of a Death Eater appeared in the doorway. She’d seen this mask with its silver swirls, this Death Eater. She knew, instinctively knew, this was Lucius, and yet she couldn’t help but automatically flinch and step back from him. If Voldemort wanted to inspire terror in the hearts of wizard-kind, He’d done a damn good job with the look of His Death Eaters. Even knowing that her lover was behind that mask couldn’t tamp down Hermione’s gut reaction to him. 

Lucius, perhaps sensing her distress, vanished his mask with a wave of his wand, and she noted that he looked weary.

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

“Just tired. And filthy. It’s been a very long day,” he said, walking toward her with a slight limp.

“You’re hurt!” she gasped, rushing to him.

“Just a slight stinging hex that hasn’t worn off.”

“Come sit down,” she said, moving beside him, intending to guide him to the sofa where she could reassure herself that he was really okay.

“No, bath first. I need to get out of these robes,” he said firmly.

They ended up a bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom. She had already showered that evening at Grimmauld Place, but she undressed and got into the bathtub as well at Lucius’s urging. She found that she rather liked being in the bath with him. She seated herself behind him, wrapping her legs around him and positioning herself perfectly to wash his long blond hair. She was certain he’d take offense at just how adorable she found the sounds he made when she massaged his scalp.

The intimacy of bathing with him almost seemed to trump the physical intimacy they’d shared thus far, and that combined with her ability to hide her face behind his broad back made her feel brave enough to fully confess her feelings.

“It scared me when I saw you limping. I thought you were seriously injured,” she admitted softly.

“Hardly,” he scoffed.

She smiled to herself at tough tone of his voice. She rubbed a soapy hand over his bicep, noting that he winced if she pressed too hard there.

“Does that hurt?”

“Just a bruise.”

“What happened?”

“A hex. The dragonhide armour took the brunt of the hit, but the force of the spell will leave a bruise.”

“I could ask Mipsy for some bruise paste,” she offered.

“Nonsense. I am fine.”

“You don’t have to be tough with me, Lucius. I was worried about you,” she said. She rinsed his long hair and his back, smoothing her hands over soft skin and hard muscle.

“I know you were, pet, but I am fine, especially now that you are here.” 

“Were you…” her voice trailed off.

“Was I what?”

“Who hit you with the hex? Was it… was it an Order member?” she asked. One part of her did not want to know that her friends were firing on her lover, and yet, she had to ask. She needed to know, although she was unsure what she would do with this information.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “If it was, it was not one I knew to be one of Dumbledore’s men. He’s dead now.”

She paused then, nearly dropping the bar of soap at the casual way he spoke of the death of the wizard who’d hexed him. She did not like this reminder that people died in battle. It was too easy for her mind to shift that nameless, faceless wizard to an image of Harry, Ron, Sirius… Lucius.

“Will you tell me about it, what you were doing before you came here?” she asked softly, even though she was unsure she really wanted to know. She told herself that perhaps he had valuable information to share.

He sighed and leaned back into her embrace, sliding his palms along the slender, wet legs wrapped around him.

“I led a team into a wizarding village to locate someone wanted for questioning by the Dark Lord. It was a successful mission - we found that individual, no one on my team was seriously injured, and no one was tortured upon our return. That is all. I’d rather not discuss it further.”

“And that person...will he or she be killed?” she asked softly.

He hesitated. “I do not now. It is no longer in my control.”

She closed her eyes and pushed out a shaky breath. She shouldn’t have asked. She did not want to know what horrors awaited this nameless, faceless person. She’d known by the end of her sixth year at Hogwarts that war had come, and war was brutal and painful and devastating. She’d known that it would be agony to be in love with Lucius while on opposing sides of a war, and yet somehow each new revelation was another knife in her chest, another agony she’d not considered. 

“And then you summoned me,” she whispered, blinking back tears for that unknown person captured by Death Eaters and the unknown wizard who hexed Lucius and was killed in battle.

“I did. And now you are here, and I wish to make the most of my time with you. Let us not dwell on things we cannot control, pet,” he said.

She took a deep breath to calm her emotions. “Yes, of course, you’re right,” she said softly.

“You know, I do believe bathing by myself has lost all its appeal,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at her with a smirk.

She pressed her body against his back, wrapping her arms around him and resting her cheek against his warm, wet skin.

“Don’t tease,” she said softly. “I was worried about you tonight.”

“I am...unused to anyone worrying about me,” he admitted.

This was it, she told herself. It was time to admit her true feelings to the wizard she so loved. She’d thought it for so long, had known in her heart that she loved him, but she’d held off saying those three words. It had been too soon, they’d not been together long enough, she was too young, a myriad of reasons for holding back her feelings had tumbled around in her brain for more than a year, but enough was enough. He’d been hexed tonight. He could have died. Others did die. What if he died without hearing her declaration of love? She could not bear the thought! She was brave, and they were at war, and it was past time to say it.

“I will always worry about you. I...I love you, Lucius,” she whispered. 

He gripped her leg and one of the arms she’d wrapped around him.

“Do you? Truly?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I do.”

He was quiet for a moment, and Hermione worried that she’d spoken too soon, that he would be unhappy with the intensity of her feelings for him. After all, he was married, and she was just 18 and should by all rights still be a Hogwarts student.

“You overwhelm me, pet.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, trying to burrow into his back and make herself smaller in her embarrassment.

He was silent for an agonizingly long moment.

“I loved my parents, of course, even as I feared and later resented my father. I loved Draco the moment I laid eyes upon him, but that is the love of a child and of a parent. I have thought it possible to love a witch, but as I have never fully experienced...I am unsure what name to give the feelings I have for you. I care for you deeply, Hermione,” he admitted.

It was not a declaration of love, but she sensed that it was more than he had ever given anyone before. It broke her heart to think that this beautiful, brilliant wizard had been so deprived of romantic love in his life that he did not know how to recognise it. She blinked away tears and pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

He dragged her from the bathtub then, drying them both abruptly, in between hot, wet, kisses that made her heart race. She clung to him, desperate to be near him. The uncertainty of war hung over her like a dark cloud, even in their perfect sanctuary. The knowledge that each day could be their last, that _ this  _ could be the last day she ever saw Lucius, spurred her passion.

She wanted to touch him, kiss him everywhere, as if her lips and fingertips were imbued with some sort of armour that would protect him from the spells cast by her own comrades. She wanted to leave her mark on his body, and she wanted him to mark her as his own. She was insatiable, and it was too much and not enough all at the same time.

When they at last collapsed onto sweaty sheets, bodies exhausted from their passion, she was too tired to cling to him, and she drifted to sleep with his whispers in her ear.

“Sleep now. I’ll wake you soon.”

True to his word, he did wake her, insisting that he’d summoned her for more than just sex - although she would not have complained had he wanted her just for that. She curled up beside him in the bed, both still naked and tangled in the sheets, as he spoke.

“I’ve given a great deal of thought to everything you’ve said.” He paused as if gathering his thoughts. “If Dumbledore was correct - and given everything I knew of the man, I do question anything and everything he may have told Potter - if he was correct, and there are six horcruxes, the others are items of some importance.”

She rolled onto her side and studied his profile. “You think so? The last we spoke of this, you said they could be anything.”

“Yes, well, I have no desire to ever create anything as foul as a horcrux, but if I did, I would choose unlikely items that would not be easily located. The Dark Lord, however, thinks highly of Himself and would want something... _ auspicious _ .”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re a Malfoy. I find it hard to believe you would not also choose something auspicious.”

“Pet, for that sort of effort, success matters more than anything else. I would not waste the effort by desecrating a significant historical artifact. If there exists only one of something, then someone searching for it would know when they’ve found it, would they not? And of course people would expect me - a Malfoy - to use something significant, which is exactly why I would do the opposite. The Dark Lord, however, is not that subtle. His ego is overlarge.”

Hermione considered his words. “That...actually makes sense in a twisted way.”

“The diary was a personal item that obviously had significance to the Dark Lord. The cursed ring Dumbledore found and destroyed apparently belonged to the Gaunts and was a family heirloom. The necklace belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself.”

“Yes.”

“Knowing that, I would look for items of some historical significance in the magical world,” he said.

“The philosopher’s stone was destroyed, and to the best of my knowledge, no others exist, and the Flamels are both gone,” she mused.

“Godric Gryffindor was rumoured to have a magical sword,” he said.

“Yes. Harry has used it before. In the Chamber of Secrets. It came to him, and he pulled it from the Sorting Hat. Apparently it can come to a Gryffindor in need.”

He arched an eyebrow at her.

“You don’t think He’d desecrate the Sword of Gryffindor?”

“If He could get His hands on it? Yes, I do. It would be rather like pissing on the grave of your enemies, would it not?”

She wrinkled her nose at the crude analogy. “I suppose. Dumbledore left the sword to Harry in his will, but the Ministry refused to turn it over to him. They said it belonged to Hogwarts.”

“There is no telling where it is now then,” he said with a frown.

She sat up in bed suddenly.

“The cup!”

“What?” he looked confused.

“The cup! Dumbledore had memories, memories that he shared with Harry about Tom Riddle.”

Lucius frowned.

“And?”

“Well, Tom Riddle was, you know this right, that He became the Dark Lord?”

“Yes, I know.”

“You do? Then you know that He is a half-blood?” she asked.

“Yes, I know. It was rather politically expedient of Him to latch onto the issue of blood supremacy to build His base of support. My father attended Hogwarts with Him. He was believed to be a mud-muggleborn until he proved himself to be a half-blood, descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. Many were willing to overlook his less than pure blood, given his mother’s ancestry.”

“Really?” she asked, silently noting how he’d nearly said mudblood but choosing not to comment on it for now.

“Yes, but I do not believe you wish to be sidetracked by the limited stories my father shared about the Dark Lord,” he prodded.

“Oh, yes. Yes, Dumbledore shared memories with Harry, and one of them was of Tom Riddle after Hogwarts. He was trying to track down a cup, a golden cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.”

“He was collecting items belonging to the founders of Hogwarts then,” Lucius said. He looked disgusted at the idea that Voldemort would desecrate something else belonging to the revered wizards and witches who’d founded their school.

“So we need to locate the sword, and the cup, and…” her voice trailed off as she spoke. “Was there a relic or an item associated with Rowena Ravenclaw?”

“I am unsure. You may wish to consult books regarding the history of Hogwarts.”

“I’ve read Hogwarts: A History” many times over,” she said with a frown. “I don’t recall anything about founders’ artifacts.”

“I believe there are earlier editions in my library at Malfoy Manor. I shall examine those to see if they yield any clues.”

She smiled up at him in thanks for the research he planned to do. Malfoy Manor’s library reportedly rivaled that of Hogwarts, and she would have loved to study the contents. 

“The diary, the ring, the necklace, the cup, the sword, and something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s then. Do you think that’s it?” she asked.

“I cannot imagine that anyone would be able to split their soul that many times. Surely there are no more,” he said.

“Now we just need to find them!”

He pulled her to him for a lingering kiss. “You are brilliant, pet.”

“I would not have put the pieces together without you, Lucius. We make a brilliant team. Do you have any ideas about where those items might be? I can’t very well march up to Severus Snape and ask him if I can borrow the Sorting Hat.”

He snorted. “No, you cannot. Severus has done well for himself since Dumbledore’s death. I had not thought him that loyal to the cause - which of course is surely why he was asked to prove himself - but… I had the diary but did not know the evil it contained. Perhaps Severus has been given one? Where were the other items found?”

She paused for a moment and then decided in for a sickle, in for a Galleon. She might as well tell him more.

“Harry said Dumbledore found the ring at the remains of the Gaunt family’s home. The necklace had been left in a cave along the coast of England, and was guarded by inferi,” she said before explaining how Regulus Black had secreted the real horcrux away before dying, and how they’d found it at Grimmauld Place.

“And you’ve destroyed it?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she admitted. “We can’t figure out how to destroy it. Nothing seems to work.”

“An artifact of that nature, created with the darkest of magic, will surely require dark magic in its destruction. Allow me to research this issue on my end. I have many more books at my disposal than you do, I am sure. As for the other items, Severus may indeed have the sword. I will have to make discreet inquiries. The cup...if Severus has the sword, and I had the diary, it is not outside the realm of possibility that He could have given the cup to another of His loyal inner circle.”

“Who?” she asked in a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

“The most likely recipients would be Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange.”

 

~oOo~

 

Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place with mixed emotions. Leaving Lucius was so difficult. She was excited at the progress they’d made in narrowing down Voldemort’s horcruxes, but the idea that Bellatrix and Rodolphus had one in their possession was a bit unnerving. Bellatrix Lestrange had appeared insane at the Department of Mysteries in fifth year, and Hermione did not relish the idea of battling the two Death Eaters to gain access to a horcrux. 

She pushed that thought aside for the time being. She would need to pretend to figure out this latest development in the horcrux hunt while researching with Harry and Ron. Harry would never be comfortable with the idea that she had shared the tale of Voldemort’s horcruxes with anyone, especially someone in Voldemort’s inner circle. 

She was deep enough in her thoughts that she did not realise there was anyone else in the room until she tripped over a large black dog sprawled out on the parlor floor. She gasped and righted herself before falling.

Padfoot transformed, and she found herself in the darkened room with Harry’s godfather.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered in a hiss, afraid to wake Harry and Ron.

“I could ask you the same thing. Where were you, Hermione?”

“That’s none of your business.”

In the weak candlelight of the room, she could see him sniff and then narrow his eyes.

“You reek of sex.”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Stupid canine senses! She should have been more wary of Harry’s godfather.

“I am an adult, and I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“Harry and Ron are safe, by the way. They’re asleep, nice of you to ask about them.”

“Don’t be like that.”

“I came here to check on all of you, and Harry and Ron said you’d gone to bed early. They went up to bed, and I said I was going to look for a book. You know, the funny thing about being an animagus, is that I smell and hear much better as a dog than I do as a wizard. You weren’t in the house. At all. I know because I checked. So where were you?”

“I told you, it’s none of your business,” she said defensively.

“If whatever you’re doing affects Harry, it IS my business! You left here without telling anyone. You could have been killed, and no one would have known you were even gone!”

“I was not in any danger!”

“And us? What if we’d been in danger, Hermione? What if there’d been a raid on this place? What if we’d had to leave in the middle of the night? Harry could have been captured or killed because he was running through this place looking for YOU. Only you weren’t here because you sneaked away for a quick fuck.”

Before she could stop herself, Hermione stepped forward and slapped Sirius across the face. When she revisited this interaction later, she would have to admit to herself that he had a valid point, he truly did. It had been reckless for her to rush off to Lucius’s side when summoned. Nothing bad had happened in her absence, but if it had, Sirius was right that Harry would not have wanted to leave Grimmauld without her. But to have her relationship with Lucius belittled, cut down to such insignificant and base terms was unacceptable to Hermione. 

She gazed up at him in horror, stunned both by his words and by her own impetuous action.

He rubbed his cheek and then sighed. “You’re with a Death Eater, aren’t you?” he asked in a voice that sounded almost resigned.

“What?”

“Your source, the one you won’t betray, the one who has been feeding you all of this information. He’s a Death Eater, isn’t he? No one else would have that kind of inside information. Harry and Ron may not have put it together yet because they want to think the best of you.”

Fucking a Death Eater. That was what he thought of her, of what she was doing. It hurt Hermione deeply to have her relationship with Lucius reduced to such crude and shallow terms.

“He is not there willingly. He doesn’t have any other choice, so he’s helping us however he can,” she insisted. She supposed there was no point in denying that she indeed involved with a Death Eater.

“Or he’s using you to weed out information about the Order.”

“How many lives have been saved because of the information I’ve provided?” she challenged.

“You are taking an enormous risk, and it’s not just your life at stake. If you want to throw your life away to be with a Death Eater, that’s your choice, but I will not let you risk Harry’s life as well!” he said in a hushed but angry voice.

“It’s not like that. We’re in love, we’re in love, and he has gone out of his way to keep me safe. He would never hurt me, and he knows how important it is for Harry to win. He’s HELPING us!” she insisted.

Sirius looked at her with a look of concern and pity on his face before shaking his head. “You cannot trust a Death Eater, Hermione. Not with this. Not with Harry’s life.”

“Because they’re all bad? Forever? Regulus gave his life to get that locket out of that cave, to do the right thing. There are Death Eaters who don’t want to be there, but who have no escape. That mark on their arms is a prison without walls. He can’t leave, and he’s doing what he can to help me. He’s no different from Regulus,” she insisted.

Hermione knew that mentioning Sirius’s brother was a low blow on her part, and she could tell by the expression on his face that he was upset.

“If any harm comes to Harry because of what you are doing with this Death Eater, I will make you pay. I promise you that,” he swore before he disapparated, leaving Hermione alone in the darkened room.


	23. Seventh Year, Part 4, 1997

###  **Seventh Year, Part 4, 1997**

 

Hermione managed to hide her sporadic messages from Lucius from Harry and Ron, but she knew her friends were deeply suspicious of the information she mysteriously received. Harry seemed hurt that she would not confide in him, and Ron was increasingly bitter over the secrets she kept. Still, the other tidbits of information Lucius shared with her bought her some trust with the Order, although her interactions with Sirius were tense.

Over the next few weeks, the Order was able to take out a number of Voldemort’s supporters, while sustaining only minimal injuries and casualties on their side. Lucius assured her that he was safe, that he did not participate in the missions he shared with her to pass on to the Order. She was filled with relief that he was not setting himself up for failure. It felt odd and wrong somehow to be relieved, for it wasn’t as if she  _ wanted  _ him to succeed as a Death Eater, but she did very much want him to stay alive and well and on the Dark Lord’s good side. If Voldemort was pleased with him, then Lucius would remain as safe as he could be, given the circumstances. 

For a time, life continued in relative quiet. 

They were still unable to destroy the locket, and so they’d taken to wearing it in shifts to ensure that they did not leave it behind if they had to leave Grimmauld Place for any reason. Ron thought this was overkill, but Hermione agreed with Harry that it was a precaution they should take. 

The first time she wore Slytherin’s locket was unpleasant. It was heavy, and the metal was icy cold where it touched her skin. The worst though was the voice. 

_ ‘I have seen your heart, and it is mine.’ _

That awful, hissing voice haunted her every time she wore the necklace, and it crept into her nightmares. Sometimes as she wore the locket, she heard Draco Malfoy in her head calling her horrid names: mudblood whore, filthy cunt. Other times she heard his taunts:  _ ‘You don’t belong here, Granger. You’re nothing. My father will never care about you. You’re just a roll in the mud, a convenient fuck to him.’ _

If it was hard to stomach Draco’s voice in her head, it was downright unbearable the times the horcrux whispered to her in Lucius’s voice:  _ ‘How dare you presume to be good enough for a Malfoy? You stupid, silly little girl - you are only of value to me because you’re Harry Potter’s best friend. You’ll lead me right to him won’t you? I’ll kill him while he sleeps and fuck you beside his corpse, my pretty whore.’  _

When it was not attacking her insecurities, the horcrux played on her fears, hissing horrific scenarios in which Lucius died at the Dark Lord’s hand, or from spells cast by Sirius or even Harry. The nightmares that haunted her when she wore the necklace at night were bad enough to leave her gasping for breath and shaking in fear.

She had to find a way to destroy the necklace, she simply had to before it drove her insane. 

 

~oOo~

 

She was not the only one frustrated with their inability to destroy the necklace. Harry and Ron disliked wearing it just as much as she did, and the longer they held onto it, the more they were all frustrated by the horcrux and their situation.

If they were stumped by the necklace, the boys could at least console themselves with the knowledge that they were making progress on other fronts. Hermione cajoled them into studying with her, pouring over books about Hogwarts and the founders. She steered their research and their conversation and waited impatiently for Harry and Ron to come to the conclusion that something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s, as well as Helga Hufflepuff’s cup were likely Voldemort’s other horcruxes. It took longer than she would have liked for them to catch up on that front, and she breathed a sigh of relief when they were all three in agreement about those two items. She had to walk a fine line between telling them things she and Lucius had already figured out and limiting Harry and Ron’s suspicions regarding the secret information she received.

Ron was convinced that Voldemort’s giant snake, Nagini, had to be a horcrux as well, as rumour had it she was with him always. Hermione was unsure whether a living creature could harbor a bit of another living creature’s soul, but Harry thought it unlikely that Voldemort would have gotten his hands on the sword of Gryffindor to make a horcrux of it, unless it had been done relatively recently. 

The snake or the sword? Which was it? The snake was likely wherever Voldemort was, so getting close enough to it to kill it could easily result in Voldemort killing them all. If the snake was a horcrux, would killing her be sufficient to destroy the horcrux too? Or would the bit of soul seek to embed itself in something else? If the snake wasn’t a horcrux, then was it really worth the possible risk of death to try to end the creature? As for the sword, it had last been seen at Hogwarts, but they couldn’t exactly march in and ask Severus Snape - that bloody traitor - for it. Or was it even there? 

They debated contacting Sirius and asking him to make some discreet inquiries into the location of the Sword of Gryffindor, but ultimately decided against it. The Ministry had refused to hand it over to Harry after Dumbledore’s death, and with dark forces controlling much of the Ministry now, Hermione feared that any inquiries would result in someone taking additional efforts to conceal the sword. It was better, they decided, for the rest of the world to think the sword was merely an interesting historical artifact. 

The trio was in agreement though that the Lestranges were likely in possession of at least one horcrux. The problem was that no one was sure where they would have hidden it. The Lestrange family’s estate had been ransacked by Aurors following the couple’s arrest and imprisonment in 1981. 

Still, they could not rule it out, so under the relative anonymity of polyjuice, they slipped from Grimmauld Place late one night to stakeout the Lestrange family’s ancestral home in York. Hermione had expected to have to painstakingly remove layers of wards to even get close to the place, but to her surprise, she detected only weak muggle repelling charms. The reason for this was clear as they crested the last hill before the edge of what should have been the property line for the estate. 

“Blimey. Sure as hell didn’t expect that,” Ron said as he surveyed the site. 

All that remained of Lestrange Manor was a crumbled shell of a building. Fire had obviously ravaged the once-proud manor home, leaving devastation in its wake. Hermione pondered what this meant. Did protective wards on a building fall when the building was destroyed? Or had someone removed them? 

The trio approached cautiously, wands drawn, as Hermione checked again for wards, curses, and other spells. She would not have put it past the Death Eaters to ward the place to only  _ look _ ruined, but she detected nothing.

“This is old,” Harry said as they approached the ruin. “Look at the vegetation.”

Hermione followed his gaze to the broken building and saw that in a few places, grass and other plants had begun to grown in the midst of the ruin, indicating that it had been years since the fire that destroyed it. 

“I wonder when it burned,” she mused.

“No telling,” Ron said. “Although you’d think Sirius would have said something. Could’ve saved us the trouble of coming out here.”

“How so?” she asked.

Ron shrugged. “Well, he spent all that time after Azkaban living as Padfoot, y’know?”

“So?” Harry said.

“Well, you don’t think he was hanging out in the Shrieking Shack that whole time, d’you?”

“You think he came here?” Harry asked in surprise.

Ron shrugged again. “Why not? Seems like the sort of thing he’d do. Check it out, look for anything that might be of use. All the Lestranges were in Azkaban anyway.”

He elbowed Harry then. “Maybe he set the fire.”

Harry snorted. “Hiking his leg on the front door while in animagus form seems more like his style.”

“Let’s not waste any time,” Hermione reminded them. Polyjuice only lasted an hour, and they were vulnerable outside of Grimmauld Place. “We can assume the Aurors examined the place after the Lestranges were arrested. Let’s do a quick sweep and look for anything with dark magic.”

She hesitated stepping across the threshold, waiting for some sort of magical attack that mercifully did not come. They moved swiftly, casting spells across the ruins of the manor, in search of magical items. There was precious little to be found. 

“What’s left of this place looks like it’s been ransacked,” Harry observed as they finished their search of the ruins.

“Plenty of people to hate the Lestranges,” Ron said as he eyed the remnants of a burned picture frame. 

“This was a bloody waste of time,” Harry said in frustration as he kicked a bit of debris out of his path. 

“Eh, it got us out of Grimmauld for a bit. Change of scenery and all that rot. Plus we know there aren’t any Death Eaters hiding out here,” Ron said. He was in what Hermione considered an abnormally good mood. He was right though - the change of scenery and the fresh air was nice, and it did make her feel better to know that they were able to cross this place off their list and move on to other possible hiding spots for the horcruxes.

As they apparated away, she felt the first tingling sensations indicating that the potion was wearing off.

 

~oOo~

 

Their foray to Lestrange Manor - or what was left of it - left Hermione’s mind energised and kept her awake after Harry and Ron went to bed. She was alone in the library at Grimmauld Place with her wand and a book when her bracelet warmed. 

_ All is well. No luck re destruction of H. Will keep researching. Miss you. _

She sighed, knowing that Lucius had been patiently combing through his library in search of ways to destroy the horcruxes. It was unfortunate that he’d not found anything yet, but she was pleased to know he was alive and well.

She smiled and reached for her wand to return his message with one of her own.

“Hermione, have you seen my - what are you doing?”

She startled, her wand pointed at her bracelet, and looked up to see Ron standing in the doorway in his pajamas.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said, tucking her wand away.

“I was, almost, but then I remembered I left my wand downstairs when I re-heated our tea. What are you doing?” he repeated.

“I think your wand might be in the kitchen,” she offered. “But you should keep it with you at all times.”

“You were communicating with someone, weren’t you? It’s the bracelet - that’s how you’re getting information from your source!”

She silently cursed. Of all the nights for Ron to have a burst of brilliant observation.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, twisting her toward him to inspect the bracelet.

“What are you doing? Stop!”

“There’s no clasp. No way to take it off. Who gave this to you?” he demanded.  

She used her free hand to shove him back, forcing him to release her.

“Let go of me!”

“Someone could be using that to track you! It’s a magical bracelet, do you even know what kind of charms are on it?” 

Ron sounded as if he’d taken a page from the late Alastor Moody’s paranoid playbook. The locket around his neck flickered in the candlelight, and she wondered just how much the horcrux was influencing his paranoia. 

“Quiet! You’ll wake Harry!” she hissed.

“Harry’s already awake,” a voice said behind Ron.

They both turned to see Harry standing in the doorway, hair even messier than usual.

“You two were making quite the racket,” he said with a shrug. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Harry. Ron was just overreacting,” she said quickly.

“Overreacting? Hardly! She’s got a magical bracelet, Harry! She’s using it to communicate with someone!” he insisted, grabbing her wrist again and holding it up for Harry to see.

Harry was quiet as he glanced at the bracelet on her wrist and then at both of his dearest friends.

“It’s Malfoy isn’t it?” Harry asked in a quiet voice.

Hermione’s heart dropped into her stomach, and she tried to make her voice sound normal and steady.

“What?”

“Malfoy. That’s who your source is, isn’t it? I mean, I figured it had to be someone who had some sort of connection to the Death Eaters, someone who had an in of some kind to get the sort of information you’ve been sharing with Sirius.”

_ ‘Oh god, oh god. This is not happening,’ _ she thought to herself.

“I’ve thought it was Malfoy for awhile. I know what you said in the hospital wing, about wanting to protect me, but you took a curse - a possibly deadly curse - for him,” Harry continued.

_ Wait. What? _

She tried to focus on what he was saying instead of the defense she’d been trying to create in her head.

“And then he locked you in that closet when the Death Eaters were in the castle. Like… like he wanted to protect you,” Harry said.

“MALFOY? You think she’s with MALFOY?” Ron thundered before looking at Hermione as if she had betrayed them all.

“It’s Draco, isn’t it?” Harry questioned, fixing his bright green eyes on her.

Harry had inadvertently come far too close to the truth for Hermione’s liking, but if she looked objectively at the situation, she could easily see how her best friend had come to this conclusion. Draco Malfoy had the means to provide a witch with a gift as extravagant as the customised magical bracelet around her wrist. She _ had _ taken a curse to protect Draco, and he had, in turn, kept her out of sight from Death Eaters who would have not hesitated to shoot the killing curse at a mudblood. Of course, he’d insulted her and groped her before ‘protecting’ her, but she’d never told Harry and Ron about that. She was still debating whether or not to say anything to Lucius about Draco’s hateful tirade and wandering hands.  

She wanted to confirm Harry’s theory, for it was far safer than admitting the truth, and she could not think of anyone else she could reasonably peg as her source who Harry would deem believable at this point. But she did not want to anger her friend. Harry  _ needed _ her right now, he needed her help - and Lucius’s help - to hunt down and destroy all of the horcruxes.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and heaved a weighty sigh. “Look, I won’t say that I understand it or even that I’m totally okay with it because Malfoy is a right git most of the time, and frankly, Hermione, when I came into that bathroom he was firing some pretty strong curses your direction.”

“He didn’t hit me. Not a single time. I had a shield up, and he was… he was angry about something,” she whispered. “I was letting him work out his frustration.”

Harry sighed. “It’s...my uncle is not a nice person, and he yelled at my aunt, and I… I don’t want you to be in that kind of a situation, Hermione.”

“I’m not!” she insisted. “I’m not. I promise, Harry. I would never be with someone who was abusive.”

He did not look as if he believed her.

She realised then that she’d not  _ actually _ confirmed his suspicions and outright said she was romantically involved with Draco, but she’d said enough that Harry believed his suspicions to be true. It struck her that her non-confirmation was absurdly Slytherin in its vagueness.

“You get messages from the bracelet,” he said, motioning to her wrist for confirmation.

“Yes.”

“Like the galleons we used for the DA then?”

She nodded.

“How does he get your messages?”

“His ring,” she whispered. She knew Draco had a signet ring as well, but only Lucius’s was charmed to her bracelet.

“I don’t trust him. Not with you. Frankly, I think you deserve a hell of a lot better,” Harry continued as Ron gaped at both of them. 

“He’s using you to spy on us!” Ron insisted.

“NO!” Hermione shot back, shaking her head. “No, he’s not. He… he doesn’t even know where I am.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked hesitantly. “Because I mean, you obviously trust him, but I don’t.”

She thought back to her conversations with Lucius, about horcruxes and the mysterious objects they had to find and destroy in order to kill Voldemort. She did not dare tell Harry just what she’d shared with her lover. She felt bad lying to him, but really, she had no other choice!

“He...he never wanted to be a part of this. He volunteered information, I mean, after we were together. He’s doing this to help us, and of course, I would never tell him anything about the Order or our plans!”

Harry sighed again, and she appreciated the enormous restraint and maturity he seemed to be showing. “I don’t trust him,  _ but _ I can’t argue with the information he’s sharing. For whatever reason, Malfoy is helping you, helping  _ us _ , and as much as I don’t like it, I don’t have any right to tell you to stop whatever it is you’re doing with him. Just know that if he hurts you, all bets are off.”

Hermione exhaled and felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Harry - and by extension Ron - knew more than she wanted them to know, and they were far closer to the truth than they realised, but for now she would let them believe Draco was her source. 

“But Harry, it’s MALFOY!” Ron protested.

“And it’s Hermione. You don’t have to trust Malfoy. You don’t have to like him. But it’s Hermione, and I do trust her,” Harry said quietly but firmly. It was clear from his tone that he considered this a closed matter.

She knew that Harry loathed Draco Malfoy, and she knew just how much it pained him to offer his support to her supposed relationship with Lucius’s son. She looked at her best friend again and noted the dark circles around his eyes. He’d been quieter since Dumbledore’s funeral, more serious. The weight of what he had to do, of what the prophecy foretold, rested heavily on his mind, and she knew her friend had been forced to grow up even more in the last six months. 

“Just… do me a favour, yeah? Don’t tell me any of the gory details. I don’t think I can stomach it,” Harry said, offering her a bit of a crooked smile.

Hermione blinked back tears of her own and hugged her best friend. 


	24. Seventh Year, Part 5, 1997

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who continues to read, follow along, and share your thoughts with me. I love reading your comments and seeing what you think about each new update to Hermione's story. Thank you to flightglow32 for talking me through some of the action sequence in this chapter.

Seventh Year, Part 5, 1997

 

Weeks later, Hermione was at her wit’s end. Ron was sulky and petulant, apparently annoyed with her for her secret relationship with ‘Draco,’ and all three of them were frustrated with their inability to destroy Slytherin’s locket. Hermione had even attempted to cast a few spells that were most definitely both dark and illegal, but to no avail. She knew Lucius was discreetly researching the issue as well, looking for anything in his vast library that might help them destroy a horcrux.

Harry thought they needed to leave Grimmauld because they’d exhausted the books in the Black library and weren’t going to find another horcrux within the walls of the townhouse. It was a fair point, Hermione acknowledged to herself, but leaving would put them all at greater risk of capture, especially since they did not exactly have another place to stay. Not even Sirius’s cottage would be an option for them because too many members of the Order came and went, making it harder to keep the trio’s location a secret. Hermione had taken to keeping her beaded bag packed and within arm’s reach at all times, and it was this level of paranoid preparation that ended up being their saving grace.

Harry had dozed off on the sofa in the parlor while Ron looked deep in thought as he moved pieces around on a chessboard. She was knitting whilst thinking about their possible next steps when her bracelet heated up.

_Death Eater attack, 12 Grimmauld Place. Tell Sirius, leave NOW._

“Oh my God!” Hermione stood up abruptly, dropping the kitting on the floor. “Harry! Ron! We need to go. NOW!”

“Huh?” Harry roused from sleep, looking disoriented.

Hermione tried to think about the contents of the house, where their belongings were stashed, and what they most needed that wasn’t already in the beaded bag looped across her body.

“Message!” she gasped. “The bracelet. Death Eaters are coming! We need to go!”

Ron knocked over the chessboard in his haste, sending pieces flying. “What? Are you sure?”

“I need to get some things from the library,” she said, running from the room as Harry pulled on his shoes.

“What? Are you barmy? Leave the bloody books!” Ron shrieked.

Harry darted after Hermione, realising that she was likely trying to gather anything related to horcruxes.

“I shouldn’t have left this out,” she muttered under her breath. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her hands trembled as she frantically shoved parchment and books into the beaded bag and adjusted the lightweight charm on it.

“How long do you think we have?” Harry asked as he shoved Hermione’s beloved copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ into the bag.

“I don’t know. He said ‘now.’ I didn’t - he didn’t know where we were staying. I think he was trying to save Sirius.”

She stopped mid-stride and looked at Harry.

“Where’s the locket?”

He lifted the chain and revealed the locket, tucked safely beneath his jumper.

“That everything?” he asked.

Hermione took a quick glance around the library, saddened at the thought of leaving the rest of the books behind.

“I hope so.”

Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her from the library, running into Ron in the hallway, his arms filled with what looked to be a ball of clothes and food. Hermione held open the bag as he shoved it in, trying to ignore Ron’s muttered curses.

A blast startled them all, and dust fell around them as something shook the house.

“They’re attacking the wards!” Ron said warily. “It won’t hold up for long.”

“We need to get out of here. Hold onto me, and I’ll apparate us,” Hermione said, reaching for Ron.

Another blast hit the house, and she could see the flash of a spell through the parlour window.

“Why aren’t you going?” Ron cried in a panicked voice.

“I’m trying! Nothing is happening!”

“They must have set anti-disapparation wards,” Harry said. “We need another way out.”

Hermione looked frantically around the room. It appeared the Death Eaters were about to break down the front door, if not blow a hole in the entire front of the townhouse.

Since moving into Grimmauld, the trio had kept the floo mostly locked down, save for Sirius’s occasional scheduled visits. It was too risky to leave it wide open for fear that floo travel was being tracked. The floo was an option, but where to go? Not the Burrow, certainly, for they couldn’t risk leading Death Eaters to Ron’s family. Flooing to a public place wasn’t a great option either, especially without being carefully glamoured or polyjuiced. Her bracelet was a portkey directly to Lucius’s lodge, but she was afraid to bring Harry and Ron there. It would expose her true relationship if Lucius showed up in response to her portkey, and she shuddered to think what would happen if Draco or Narcissa happened to be there.

“Back door, come on!” Ron yelled, making the decision for her and pulling her away from the parlour, just as the front door and part of the building facade exploded in a shower of splintered wood and crumbling brick.

“ _Sirius!_ It’s time to _die_!” Bellatrix Lestrange cried out in a chilling sing-song voice as she sauntered into her cousin’s former home.

The witch was unmasked and followed by a handful of masked and robed Death Eaters. Hermione’s eyes frantically scanned the group, looking for Lucius, but his familiar mask was nowhere in sight.

“IT’S THEM! IT’S HARRY POTTER!” the Death Eater beside Bellatrix yelled.

“The Dark Lord wants Potter alive, but we can kill the others!” Bellatrix grinned sadistically.

A chill went down Hermione’s spine at the witch’s instructions.

Hermione was unsure how many of Voldemort’s loyal brethren had come with the crazed witch, but she didn’t dare stop to count.

A flash of red light from a spell shot past them, narrowly missing Ron’s head. 

“Harry, put up a shield!” she hissed. It was almost impossible to hold a strong magical shield and cast offensive spells at the same time. She’d been working on it, but even Lucius admitted he couldn’t do it.

“You’re better at it. You do it!” He said, casting a _stupefy_ at the nearest Death Eater.

Spells flew back and forth as they moved through the house. No one had cast an _avada kedavra_ , but Hermione knew that Bellatrix and her team were using dark spells. A single hit would cause any of them tremendous harm. She wanted to cast back, to throw everything she had at them, to let them know that the light wasn’t going to give up without a fight. Harry was right though - she was the best at shielding spells, thanks to Lucius.

The floo was lost to them as a possible escape route as they moved away from the parlour.

“We can get out through the basement, through the back door,” Ron said in a frantic whisper. “We need to get out of the building and past any anti-disapparation wards”

Harry sent a chest of drawers flying down the hall, slamming it into their attackers.

“Give up now, and you can beg the Dark Lord for mercy!” one of the Death Eaters taunted.

Ron’s _depulso_ spell hit its mark and sent another Death Eater flying back out of the large hole where the front door had been.

A _bombarda_ cast behind them blew up another door and part of the library wall.

“Basement, hurry!” Ron said, pulling Hermione and Harry both toward the stairs.

She half-ran, half-tumbled down the stairs into the basement, praying they’d be able to escape. If not,they would be trapped below ground. Harry cast a _colloportus_ on the door behind them, and she followed it up by sending a bulk solid oak table against the door.

“Come on, this way!” Ron said, gesturing to the small door at the back.

Another blast shook the house as the Death Eaters tried to open the door to the basement. Ron cast an _alohomora_ on the basement door that led to the outside, sliding it open. It was clear from the cobwebs no one had used it in quite some time.

“Why is it always spiders?” Ron muttered, cringing as he pushed his way through the cobwebs and up the narrow stone steps that led to a gated area behind the home.

Someone must have cast _confringo_ at the door and table behind it because they both exploded and burst into flames then. Hermione ducked to avoid a flying piece of debris. With a wave of her wand she sent rows of old china and other supplies flying at the first Death Eater to enter and followed it with a darker cutting spell intended to maim and slow their attackers.

“Come on!” Harry yelled, pulling her up the stairs and into the open air before she had a chance to see if her spell hit its mark. The cold crisp air of early winter had never felt so good to Hermione.

“We need to get to the edge of the property!” Ron yelled, his longer legs putting him ahead of Hermione and Harry.

They ran for the street behind Grimmauld, throwing curses over their shoulders. Judging from a yelp of pain and a crashing sound, she thought they’d managed to disable at least one of their attackers.

“Grab onto me,” Hermione yelled as they approached the edge of the property. Harry locked arms with her, and she grabbed for Ron’s hand. His grasp was sweaty, and she struggled to hold onto him.

Bellatrix’s shriek of anger was the last thing she heard as they disappeared in a swirl of magic, leaving Grimmauld Place behind.

 

 

~oOo~

 

“FUCK! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Harry cursed as they landed hard in the middle of the woods. She’d wanted to move them as far from Grimmauld as she dared, and to a place where no one would hopefully see them before she could erect protective wards.

Harry caught Ron as he stumbled and then fell onto the ground.

“He’s bleeding!”

“I know. Wards first,” she hissed as a sharp pain shot up her leg. She was unsure if it was the result of a hex of some kind or if she’d just landed poorly on her ankle. A cursory glance told her it wasn’t bleeding, so she dismissed it and tried to ignore the pain. She raised her wand and cast a complicated series of wards around them in the woods. As soon as she finished, she fumbled in her beaded bag, silently cursing the mess inside that was created when they left Grimmauld so hastily.

“How bad is it?” she asked as she turned toward Ron and Harry. Ron looked deathly pale and had what looked like a deep gash across his shoulder down to his armpit.

“He’s losing a lot of blood,” Harry admitted, pressing his hands onto the wound to try to staunch the bleeding.

“Splinched,” Ron pushed out through teeth gritted in pain.

“Looks more like a _defodio_ ,” she murmured.

“Just FIX it!” Harry demanded.

“Hang on. I’ve got dittany,” she said, kneeling beside him to heal the wound with the precious potion.

Ron relaxed almost as soon as the potion took effect and then passed out, likely from loss of blood. Still, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and poured a blood replenishing potion into his mouth. Harry, however, was still on edge, so she sat quietly on the ground beside Ron while Harry felled a tree, exploded it, and then used his wand to slice what was left of it into numerous small pieces. She’d watched Lucius act out similarly in his anger, so she waited for Harry to calm before attempting to speak to him.

By the time he’d calmed enough for rational conversation, Ron had regained consciousness.

“There are DEATH EATERS in his house. In Sirius’ house. That was… it was the ONE safe place we had,” Harry finally said in a defeated voice as he sat down on the tree stump.

“It wasn’t Sirius’s home, not to him. It hadn’t been in a long time,” she said quietly. “Look, we knew we couldn’t stay there forever, and that’s why I’ve been carrying that tent around in my bag all this time. The important thing is that no one was captured or killed today on our side.”

She took Harry’s lack of a response to mean that he acknowledged the accuracy of her words but was still angry enough about what had happened to speak logically about it.

“Was Malfoy there?” Ron asked.

Hermione glanced over at him and had to remind herself that he was speaking of Draco, not Lucius.

“I...no. No, he wasn’t.”

“How can you be sure, when your Death Eater lover is dressed like all the rest of them?” he sneered.

The adrenaline of the fight was beginning to wear off as she rummaged in the bag for the tent, and she allowed herself a bit of an emotional outburst.

“How can I be sure? Because I KNOW HIM. I know him, and I know his mask. I’ve seen it. Do you get that? I’ve seen him _wear it_ , and I would recognise him anywhere, even in Death Eater robes, even in that bloody mask, Ronald. HE SAVED US tonight. Get that through your thick skull: he warned us, and you were saved by a Malfoy tonight.”

She jerked the tent out of the bag and angrily began setting it up. Harry joined her, sensing that she needed him to be calm for her sake now.

“Malfoy...he knew where we were staying? All this time?” Harry asked. “You told me he didn’t…”

She shook her head. “No. I told you that. I never told him where I was staying. I didn’t want to take the chance. He… he knows occulemency, but he didn’t want to know where we were going to be. It was best for everyone. The message was that Death Eaters were coming to 12 Grimmauld Place, and that we needed to tell Sirius to leave. He must have assumed Sirius was there.”

“Well, it is still technically his, whatever’s left of it after Bellatrix is through with it,” Harry said bitterly.

“He’s shared information with us when he can. I’m sure if he’d been able to get the message to me earlier, he would have,” she said.

Harry was quiet for long enough that she finally asked him how he was doing. He looked at her with an unfathomable expression on his face.

“It’s just hard to wrap my mind around, you know? Draco Malfoy saved our lives. I know he didn’t know we were there, but he acted tonight to try save Sirius Black.” He shook his head in wonder before ducking into the tent. Ron followed silently, leaving Hermione alone outside.

‘No, Harry, Draco didn’t do anything. It’s _Lucius_ you owe,’ she thought to herself.

 

~oOo~

 

 

She messaged Lucius as soon as she could: _We were at Grimmauld. Fought with D.E., but all escaped. Cannot thank you enough for warning._

He messaged back almost immediately. _Stay out of sight. Do not go to lodge. Will contact soon._

She waited for a response, waited while they built a campfire, cooked a meal, and the boys settled down to sleep on cots in the tent, Hermione volunteering to take the first watch. She was still waiting when Harry relieved her hours later and sent her inside to sleep.

She did not hear from Lucius the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

They fell into a tense routine at the campsite. Harry’s angry decimation of the tree provided ample firewood within the wards, and he took responsibility for keeping a fire going. She and Ron took turns cooking and cleaning, and they all took turns at night, keeping watch over the campsite, ready to alert the others in case of attack.

They sorted the contents of her bag, and thought they had supplies to sustain them for a month or more. She regretted having to leave behind some of her books and clothes, and to Harry’s dismay, he’d lost the mirror he’d used to communicate with Sirius. He panicked at this, realising that Sirius would have no way to reach them, no way to know that they’d safely escaped Grimmauld. Ron was the one who reminded Harry that messages could be sent by patronus, for hadn’t they all seen Kingsley’s lynx patronus warn everyone at Bill and Fleur’s wedding?

It took several days of heavy practise before Harry felt confident enough to cast a patronus with a voice message. Hermione was rather envious, as she’d practised with Harry but was still unable to cast the spell. Her patronus was corporeal and beautiful, but silent. She watched with envy as Harry’s shimmering silvery white stag danced around the forest clearing before bounding away. She was relieved for Harry that he’d be able to at last send a message to Sirius, but she still ached with anxiety over the lack of a response from Lucius.

She messaged him nightly, short messages: _We are safe. Mission still on track. Let me know you’re okay. I miss you. Are you there? Are you okay? I love you._

For two weeks she heard nothing at all from the wizard she loved. For two weeks and two different wooded campsites, she heard nothing at all.

Sirius sent Harry a return patronus, his voice echoing through the silvery image of a large dog, telling them to only use a patronus in an emergency, as anyone nearby could see it. His instructions to the trio were clear: stay out of sight, complete whatever task Dumbledore had set before them, and do not worry about the Order. It was reasonable advice, but she knew Harry was distraught at the thought of essentially being cut off from contact with his godfather.

But at least Harry had heard from Sirius. At least he knew that he was alive and well. Each day she became more and more tense, more convinced that Voldemort had somehow discovered Lucius’s treachery and eliminated the Malfoy patriarch. Ron offered little comfort during this time, but Harry proved himself a true friend, sitting beside her and quietly offering explanations for why she’d not heard anything.

_Maybe Malfoy’s on a mission. Maybe he lost the ring he uses to get your messages. Maybe he’s surrounded by other Death Eaters and can’t risk sending you a message._

She appreciated his attempt at comfort, but his words offered little relief from her fears, particularly on the days when it was her turn to wear the necklace. Wearing the necklace wasn’t quite as horrible as being near a dementor, but it did leave one with a similar feeling of malaise. It affected their moods as well, and the person wearing the necklace was inevitably the most likely to lash out at the others. She did not know - did not want to know - what thoughts tormented Harry or Ron when they took their turns carrying a bit of Voldemort’s soul around their necks.

The first time she wore the locket after leaving Grimmauld Place, she heard Draco, heard him as clearly as if he was standing behind her, whispering in her ear.

_He never loved you. Never. You were nothing more than a quick fuck, a dirty mudblood whore to use. The Dark Lord killed him for his betrayal, tortured him and killed him because he sullied himself with filth like you. He’s gone now, and it’s all your fault. My father is DEAD because of you, and I will make you pay for that!_

She woke up screaming or gasping for breath more often than not, as images of Lucius’s bloodied, mangled corpse haunted her mind. She was so distraught over Lucius, over her fears for the man she loved, that she did not see at the time just how distant Ron was becoming.

Absolution came for Hermione more than three weeks after they fled Grimmauld Place.

_Need to see you now, pet. Activate portkey._

She scrambled for her wand.

“He’s alive! Harry! Ron! He’s alive!!!” she shrieked, flinging herself into Harry’s arms and squeezing him tightly.

“I’m so glad,” Harry murmured into her hair. She knew there was no love lost between Harry and Draco, who he believed to be her lover, but she knew that Harry was genuinely happy for _her_.

“Did he say where he’s been?” he asked.

She released him and straightened her clothes and then cast cleaning charms and a _scourgify_ on herself in an effort to improve her appearance. “No, he wants to see me. I’m going to activate the portkey.”

“WHAT?” Ron thundered. “You can’t be serious! He’s a DEATH EATER. He could be dropping you into Voldemort’s lap, Hermione! Don’t be stupid!”

“It’s perfectly safe. The portkey goes to a Malfoy property in a remote area.”

“A Malfoy property. You’ve had access to a bloody mansion somewhere this whole fucking time, while we’re apparating all over England and Wales and sleeping in the fucking woods?” he asked incredulously.

“He told me not to go there. As soon as I let him know we were safe, he told me not to go there, and then I didn’t hear from him again. Obviously that property was not safe until now. I’m going.”

“You are not,” Ron said, pointing at the ground. “You’re staying right here. With us. Where you belong.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry shake his head in disbelief at Ron and then take a step away from his friend, moving out of Hermione’s line of fire.

“Where I _belong_? Excuse me, but you don’t get to tell me what to do,” she said in a low voice. “I have been in AGONY for WEEKS, not knowing if the man I love is alive or dead. I WILL go to him, right now, and you cannot stop me.”

Ron apparently took her at her word, for he turned then to Harry for support. “C’mon, Harry, you can’t just let her leave. It could be a trap. Or he could be using her to lure us out of hiding. And you -” he said turning to Hermione, “You do NOT love that slimy, awful ferret!”

Hermione glared at Ron and then turned to Harry as well. “He sent the message to try to save Sirius.”

Harry looked at both of them and then around at their makeshift home. “How can you be sure it’s really him using the bracelet, and not someone who’d want to trap you?”

She blinked in surprise at his very logical, reasonable question.

“It’s him,” she insisted. “He… he has a nickname for me, and he used it. Just now. In the message. Besides, my message goes to his ring, with the Malfoy crest. He implied that only he’d be able to see it, that it was far more secure than owl delivery. Constant vigilance, Harry. No one else has ever used that nickname for me. Ever.”

“Can you send a message back and at least verify that it’s really him?” Harry prompted.

She was about to snap back a snide retort before she remembered Lucius questioning her at the townhouse in Kensington, to make sure it was really her. Harry was right. It had been weeks since she’d heard from Lucius and even longer since she’d seen him, and it couldn’t hurt to ask a simple question.

She thought about asking him the date they first made love but then hesitated. She didn’t exactly want Harry and Ron to know those sorts of details. She frowned and then tapped her bracelet with her wand, falling back on the same question he’d asked her that day in London.

_Name of 1st book you gave me?_

She did not have to wait long. Mere seconds passed before the metal around her wrist heated.

_Occulemency: Protecting the Mind. Portkey. Now._

She grinned triumphantly at Harry as she showed him the bracelet as proof. “It’s him. It’s really him. Only he’d know about that book!”

“We said we were leaving tomorrow, headed to a new place,” he reminded her.

“I know. We can still do that. I’ll be back before then,” she promised. She slipped the locket from her neck and handed it to Harry.

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek and then gave them both a backward glance as she stepped outside the wards and activated the portkey.


	25. Seventh Year, Part 6, 1997

###  Seventh Year, Part 6, 1997

Lucius was waiting for her in that front room where she always landed, and he was an absolute vision. He could have been in Death Eater robes, covered in dirt and blood, horrifically injured, and she still would have wept at the sight of him, so relieved was she that he was alive and well. She flung herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically into his shirt and waistcoat.

“You didn’t respond! All this time, you didn’t respond! I thought you were dead,” she sobbed.

“Shhh...calm yourself, pet,” he said soothingly, stroking her dirty, tangled curls. “I was regrettably detained by the Dark Lord and was not in a position to respond to you until today.”

She reacted by tightening her hold on him and didn’t move until he apparated them both to the spacious lavatory adjacent to his bedroom.

“You are filthy. What on earth have you been doing?” he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

“Camping.”

“What?”

“We don’t exactly have a lot of places we can safely hide at the moment,” she said, a tinge of regret creeping into her voice.

He calmly and silently stripped her of her clothes. 

“Mipsy!”

Hermione wiped at the snot on her face and tried to cover herself as a small female elf popped into the lavatory.

“Launder these and return them to the wardrobe. I will have need of you later.”

“Mipsy is happy to serve the master!”

Her clothes popped away with the elf, leaving her painfully aware of her nakedness.

“Lucius, where have you been? Why didn’t you respond to me before?” she asked.

“You are a fright. Into the shower,” he said firmly, pushing her into the glass and marble enclosure. She was about to protest being manhandled, particularly since she did not want to be away from him, but the hot water felt better than anything had in weeks.

“When you are properly cleansed, you may join me in the bedroom,” he called to her over the roar of the water. “I will answer your questions then.”

 

~oOo~

 

She thought perhaps that Lucius would be undressed and waiting for her in bed when she finished her shower. Mipsy had taken her clothes, so Hermione emerged from the lavatory wrapped in a thick, fluffy hunter green towel.

Lucius was standing in front of a roaring fire, dressed in just his shirt and trousers. He turned when she walked into the room.

“Feel better?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. 

She wanted details about where he’d been and what he’d been doing in service to Voldemort, she really did, but she was with Lucius, and they were  _ alone _ , and all she could think about in that moment was getting him into bed. She wasn’t sure what came over her, but in a rush of Gryffindor bravery, she unwound the towel and dropped it on the floor. His eyes raked over her naked form, and she shivered under his perusal.

“I’ll feel much better when you’re naked too,” she said, moving toward the bed.

He smirked at her and reached for the buckle on his belt.

They came together on the bed, Lucius still partially dressed as he tangled a hand in her wet curls and pulled her against him forcefully. Their kiss was hungry and desperate, lips, tongues, and teeth moving in a frenzy.

“I was so worried about you,” she breathed when they came up for air.

“And I you. You have no idea… when you said that YOU had been at Grimmauld... You stupid, stupid witch!” he hissed. “You could have been killed!”

She clung to him, shoving at his unbuttoned shirt, desperate to feel his skin against her own.

“I wasn’t. I wouldn’t have been. Your shielding spells, the defenses you taught me, I used it,” she insisted.

He bit her ear lobe and then the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “You are too valuable to lose, pet.”

She blinked back tears and wrapped herself around him. “I love you, love you so much,” she whispered.

He moved down her body, his mouth closing around her nipple and suckling hard. Her body bowed, back arching from the bed, as he robbed her of coherent speech.

Their lovemaking was frenzied and intense. She wanted to touch him everywhere, to memorise the angles and curves of his body, the firm muscles and smooth skin. She wanted to feel him in her mouth and her throat, to draw groans of pleasure from his beautiful lips. She knew not when she’d see him again, knew that each day, each night, could be the last either of them walked this earth, and if it was – god forbid – she wanted to know that she had pleased him, enjoyed him,  _ loved _ him as much as she possibly could.

He reveled in her passion, guiding her hands, her mouth, manipulating her body just so and wringing orgasms from her until she felt boneless and limp and utterly spent. She finally collapsed on top of him, and he let her rest there for a moment before shifting her beside him on the bed. They rested in peaceable silence until she felt in control enough of her physical and mental faculties to question him.

“NOW will you tell me where the hell you’ve been for the last few weeks?” she asked once he caught his breath. He slapped her bum sharply, a rebuke for her tone she was certain.

“Calm yourself. I was not aware that you and your friends were staying at Grimmauld Place. Had I been, I would have warned you against it,” he said as he stretched out on the bed.

“Why?”

“That elf, Walburga’s.”

“Kreacher?”

“Yes.”

“I think he belonged to Sirius’s brother Regulus.”

“It matters not. He belongs to the Black family and is loyal to them.”

“Are you… are you saying Kreacher  _ betrayed _ us?” she asked in horror.

“Yes pet, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“But he’s bound to Sirius. Sirius wouldn’t have given him permission to just TELL someone where we were!”

“He’s bound to the Black FAMILY.”

She opened her mouth to respond and then stopped. He arched an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, I see you’ve figured it out,” he said. “Narcissa is a Black. She made the connection that neither she nor Bellatrix had been to that property in years and suspected that Sirius could be hiding there. I assume it was secret-kept, but they’d been there as children and knew the location. She told Bellatrix, and well… you know the rest.”

“She called Kreacher,” Hermione whispered. She knew Harry’s godfather and the elderly elf hated one another, but she hadn’t realised Kreacher could betray Sirius to another member of the family.

“She did, and he was more than happy to sell out Sirius to another member of the Black family. He even said that ‘mudblood filth and blood traitors’ had ‘defiled the home of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.’ Bellatrix and Narcissa took that to mean Sirius was using it for something war-related, a safe house perhaps. It was most fortunate that I happened to be at the Manor to witness it all, or I would not have been able to warn you. I had no idea you were staying there.”

“We barely got away. They cast anti-disapparition wards before blasting open the front of the building. We had to blast our way out of the back of the townhouse,” she admitted. “I looked for you, for your mask.”

“I was not there.”

“I know.”

“Bellatrix is...well, she’s rather unstable as you know. She was adamant about leading a team to kill Sirius, and she did not want me there. Something about me trying to steal her glory,” his lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “It’s for the best I was not there.”

“Why is that?” she asked, wondering if he had a reason other than ‘because it would be inconvenient to have to fire curses at you.’

“Because when the Dark Lord found out that Bellatrix had figured out the location of one of the Order’s safe houses but neglected to notify Him, He was furious. When He found out that she had Harry Potter and his sidekicks in her sights and let them slip through her grasp, He tortured her.”

Hermione winced. She held no love for Bellatrix Lestrange, but the idea of anyone being tortured didn’t exactly sit well with her.

“Her entire team was subjected to the  _ cruciatus  _ curse, but He reserved a great deal of His anger for Bellatrix. She fancies Him, you know,” he said matter of factly.

Hermione sat up in bed and stared at him in horror. “She FANCIES Him?”

“Disturbing, is it not?” he shuddered.

“Dear God, why?” Harry had told her all about Voldemort’s new body - the red eyes, the lack of a nose, the horrifically snake-like appearance he’d taken on.

“Power, I assume. To be fair, He was significantly more attractive back then when I was first lured into service. The rumour even in those days was that He was fucking her.”

Hermione grimaced. “I really didn’t need that mental image, Lucius.”

“My point in telling you this is that the Dark Lord has long had a connection to her, a closer one that He has ever had to me or to others in the inner circle.”

“She has to have one of the horcruxes. Surely she does,” Hermione murmured, hoping that was where he was going with this conversation.

A positively feral smile spread across his face.

“Oh she does. They all but confirmed it during the torture session,” he said.

“WHAT?” She hadn’t expected  _ that _ .

“It’s most unfortunate for the Dark Lord, you see, that so many missions have been abject failures. The Order has been far more organised and prepared than the Dark Lord dared imagine. So many trusted leaders in His inner circle, captured or killed in action in recent months,” Lucius said smoothly. “Dolohov. Lestrange. Rookwood. Avery. It’s so hard to find competent leaders these days.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at his steady gaze, the smirk on his handsome face.

“You did that. You’re eliminating the inner circle,” she said in wonder at just how much Lucius was deliberately acting to help her, to help Harry.

“I prefer to think of it as securing my position. Sometimes doing so means eliminating those in my way and removing those in positions of strength.”

His voice was clipped and cold. His expression hardened then, and Hermione was reminded then that the man she loved also put on a silver mask and committed acts of great violence. The very hands that caressed her body and brought her to indescribable heights of pleasure also wielded a wand in service to a madman. She fought back a shiver at the reminder of his duality and tried not to think about the things he had likely seen and done.

“Protecting my son, aiding you, protecting the people and things that matter most to me is my ultimate goal, and doing so requires that I retain my place in the Dark Lord’s hierarchy,” he said, sensing her discomfort. “I will not apologise for that, pet, particularly when doing so enables me to gather the information you so desperately need.”

“I...I know,” she whispered. She curled her body around his, offering what physical comfort she could, wishing she could take away some of what he’d surely endured.

He was quiet for a moment, until she finally prodded him.

“What makes you certain that Bellatrix Lestrange has a horcrux?” she prompted.

“Being part of the inner circle - a  _ trusted _ part of the inner circle - means that one is expected to witness the punishment of those who have failed Him. The humiliation in front of your peers is part of His strategy. It keeps everyone in line and works to prevent them from conspiring with each other against Him. Or at least, I suppose that is the theory. It’s hard to trust someone who has witnessed your torture, or who has tortured you himself.”

“You tortured Bellatrix?”

“I did, and I will hear no comment from you about it. Had she gotten her hands on you at Grimmauld, the rats in the dungeon below Malfoy Manor would be chewing on whatever was left of your broken carcass. She is a sadist of the worst sort.”

He said this so matter of factly that her stomach promptly turned over, and she thought she might be ill. He sat up in bed and glanced at the clock.

“I cannot stay much longer. Come, let us dress.”

“No! Wait - you have to tell me more!” she insisted as he got out of bed and pulled on his pants.

“All of those who were at Grimmauld that night were subjected to the  _ cruciatus  _ curse. I was given the dubious honor of casting it on Bellatrix herself,” he said. “It is horrific to watch and to cast. He was furious with her and bade me stand back so He could continue with it Himself. He questioned her effectiveness, her mental stability.”

Lucius pointed Hermione to the wardrobe as he spoke, and she found her clothing there, perfectly laundered and pressed. She dressed as he continued his story, grateful for the simple luxury of clean clothing.

“Toward the end, He cleared the room of all but Bellatrix, Severus, and me. In between sessions of the  _ cruciatus _ , He questioned the trust He’d placed in her, and whether He had been mistaken. Naturally, Bellatrix did her best to bow and scrape and plead for His forgiveness and mercy,” Lucius said with disgust. “The Dark Lord came closer to her then and asked her how she could be trusted to keep the most valuable of His possessions safe when she could not do something as simple as prevent three teenagers from escaping.”

Hermione’s eyes widened for a moment, but then her shoulders sagged. “But that doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t already suspect.”

Lucius finished buttoning his shirt and came toward her. He looked into her eyes and trailed a fingertip over her forehead and around to her temple.

“If I looked into this beautiful mind of yours, I’d see so much,” he said softly. “You’d know I was there, of course. You’ve experienced it as I’ve trained you. But if you were in a great deal of pain, perhaps even suffering from repeated exposure to something as physically and mentally traumatic as, say, the  _ cruciatus _ curse… well, even the best occulemens would find it difficult to keep someone out. In fact, I dare say, if you were in that much pain, you likely would not even notice an unskilled legilimens prodding at your mind.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise and she stared at him in wonder.

“She swore to the Dark Lord that ‘it’ was safe and protected. It’s a cup. A golden cup with two handles and a badger engraved on it. And it is indeed protected, in her vault at Gringotts” he said with a smirk.

At once she felt elation at the idea that Lucius had gone to such lengths to help her, but then her face fell.

“Are you not pleased, pet?” he asked, arching an eyebrow at her.

“I am, oh believe me I am, but it’s Gringotts. The vaults there are supposed to be the most secure in all of wizarding Britain,” she said.

A grin spread across his face. “Then it is most fortunate that I have something you’ll want.”

“What?!” she asked, overwhelmed at what he had done for her, for Harry.

He reached into his robes and withdrew an envelope. “I believe you are accomplished enough to produce polyjuice, are you not?”

She nodded, not wanting to admit that she and the boys carried a supply of it in her beaded bag.

“There are a few strands of Bellatrix’s hair in there, procured during her ‘punishment.’ Use them wisely, pet,” he said with a smirk as he passed her the envelope.

She flung herself into his arms and kissed him passionately, determined to ‘repay’ him for his assistance before she had to leave.

“I hate to send you back,” Lucius said regretfully some time later as he looked down at Hermione, who was on her knees on the bedroom floor, her lips red and swollen, her hair a mess where he’d fisted it in his hand as she’d swallowed his cock. 

“I hate to leave,” she admitted as he tucked himself back into his trousers and buckled his belt. “When will I see you again?”

“I do not know. It was risky bringing you here, for the same reason it was dangerous for you to be at Grimmauld.”

“Mipsy can tell Narcissa?” she asked in horror.

“Mipsy is bound just to me, however, this is a Malfoy property and like it or not, Narcissa is a Malfoy. She’s not had occasion to come here, but she can get here if she so desires. It’s why I told you to stay away after Grimmauld. I cannot take the risk that she will come here and alert the others. And if you  _ were  _ found here…”

“The Dark Lord would know your loyalties are divided,” she whispered, cringing at the thought of what Voldemort would do to Lucius and likely to Draco as well just to prove a point.

“Indeed. Mipsy has packed a bag for you with some supplies. It’s all I am able to do at the moment.”

“You’ve done more than enough,” she gushed.

He guided her back to the sitting room where a large bag laden with food, toiletries, and other supplies was packed and waiting for her.

“Stay out of sight as much as you can,” he said. “I do not know where you are staying, but I would advise that you use as many protective wards as possible. There are snatchers about, rounding up muggleborns and other ‘undesirables.’ If you are captured, my options are limited.”

“I know. We’re staying out of sight, and everything is warded. Be safe, Lucius,” she replied. She wanted to ask him just how much his hands were tied. What exactly  _ could _ he potentially do if she was captured by snatchers or by some arm of the Ministry? Could he claim her as his personal prisoner? Recommend she be kept alive as a means of luring Harry into a trap? She fought back a shudder just thinking of it. Perhaps it was better not to know. 

“Go now pet, before I am called away,” he said quietly. 

She added a lightweight charm to the bag and adjusted the strap over her shoulder before pressing one last desperate kiss to his lips. And then in a swirl of magic, she was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your wonderful continued feedback. I love reading what you think it coming up next for Hermione and Lucius! I don’t like to clog up the story itself with long author’s notes, but if you have questions you don’t want to post in a review, I’m always happy to chat with readers via on tumblr at ellesjourney.tumblr.com. I’ve also got a long list of Lucius/Hermione fanfiction recommendations on tumblr. 
> 
> If you love Lucius and Hermione as much as I do and want to talk to other fans and writers, check out the Elm & Vine group on Facebook.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle


	26. Seventh Year, Part 7, 1997

###  Seventh Year, Part 7, 1997

When she returned to the wooded campsite, Ron and Harry were both packing up the tent and supplies.

Harry ran for her first, hugging her tightly and whispering, “I’m so glad you’re back and you’re safe. You have no idea how worried I was!”

She pulled back to gaze into his green eyes. “I was always going to come back. You know I wouldn’t leave you for good.”

A look of relief crossed his face before he noticed the large bag slung over her shoulder.

“What’s all this?” Harry asked, gesturing to the bag.

“Supplies! He said it’s not safe for us to stay at the property, but he filled a bag with things he thought we might need!” she said, putting the bag down so Harry could look through it. 

She glanced over at Ron then, since he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. He looked her up and down, at her clean clothing and freshly washed hair, and then over at the bag Mipsy had packed.

“So that’s it? You just up and leave to go fuck a Death Eater?” Ron spit out in disgust. “Now he pays for your services in food and supplies? What was he paying you before to whore yourself out to him?”

“Ron, that’s enough!” Harry snapped before Hermione could respond.

“No, it’s not!” he shot back. “We’re here in the middle of the bloody woods in the middle of the winter, and she’s off in some fancy manor house somewhere in the lap of luxury!”

“It was ONE NIGHT, not even an entire night, and he’s HELPING us, you bloody moron!” she yelled back. “Get that through your thick skull - a Malfoy is HELPING US!”

“Why am I even here then?” Ron thundered. “He’s the bloody boy-who-lived, and your Death Eater boyfriend is giving you supplies and information. Harry needs you because he’s obviously not going to fuck Malfoy. No one needs me.”

“Ron, take off the locket,” Harry said in a tired voice.

“What?”

“Take off the locket,” he repeated. “You’ve worn it long enough.”

Ron glared at Hermione as he jerked Slytherin’s locket over his head and passed it back to Harry.

She held her hand out for it. “It’s my turn. I’ll take it,” she said with a sigh. She slipped the necklace on and began to help the boys pack up the campsite, knowing that once they were safely set up in a new location, she could tell them about the Lestrange vault.

 

~oOo~

 

She should have known that retrieving the cup from the vault would not be nearly as simple as the plan they’d concocted. Polyjuice had turned Hermione into Bellatrix, something she never wanted to experience again, and Ron had accompanied her in disguise while Harry followed them under his invisibility cloak.

All was well until the cart hurtling them down toward the vault passed through the Thief’s Waterfall, washing away Hermione’s polyjuice and Ron’s disguise. She’d had to resort to using the  _ imperius  _ curse on the goblin to force him to continue the journey into the depths of the bank and then open the vault. Ron was horrified at her use of an unforgivable, but what other option did she really have at that point? After the dark magic she’d used against her parents and the dark spells she’d cast in her attempts to destroy Slytherin’s locket, an  _ imperius _ on a goblin wasn’t really all  _ that _ bad in her mind.

Hermione did not have a vault of her own - muggleborns rarely did until they finished school and had full-time jobs of their own - and she’d never been with Harry to his vault. Her foray into Bellatrix’s vault was thus a wholly new experience for her. She did not want to speculate on the number of dark artifacts Bellatrix had stored here, but she could feel dark magic emanating from multiple locations in the vault.

It turned out to be most fortuitous that they’d been unable to destroy the locket, for the bit of Voldemort’s soul inside it called out to the other piece trapped inside a golden cup in the recesses of the vault. The cup had been cursed with both the  _ gemino _ and the _ flagrante  _ curses, and all three of them had been burned by the searing heat of the fast-multiplying cups that soon filled the vault.

They’d wasted precious time - and her limited supply of burn salve - healing themselves as soon as they got out of the vault. Unfortunately in the chaos of the multiplying cups, her control of the _ imperius _ curse had slipped, leaving their goblin companion free to call for help.

It was Harry who came up with the idea of using the dragon as their means of escape, and she could have kissed him for that. She hated the idea of a creature as magnificent as a dragon trapped in the depths of Gringotts and apparently tormented by the goblins who used it to protect their vaults.

Riding a dragon was a better idea than staying behind to be punished by the goblins or turned over to Death Eaters, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. It was easily more terrifying than riding a thestral or a broomstick, which of course meant that Harry and Ron LOVED it. Even after the beast dumped them in a snowbank in the middle of the English countryside - a fall that could have killed them had Harry not cast _ arresto momentum _ at the last second - Ron raved about the experience, insisting that he couldn’t wait to tell his dragon-keeper brother Charlie all about it. She, on the other hand, was just thankful to be alive and back on solid ground.

The next message she received from Lucius made her giggle hysterically, as she could absolutely picture his appalled expression when sending it:  _ A BLOODY DRAGON? I TOLD YOU TO STAY OUT OF SIGHT! _

She had no doubt he would have used a far different method to get in and out of the vault. Harry’s tendency to blast himself out of trouble, be it through a  _ reducto _ curse on thousands of glass-orbed prophecies or a ride on the back of a dragon, was so impetuous, so utterly Gryffindor. Regardless, they were alive and well and now had retrieved two of Voldemort’s horcruxes. 

The trio’s euphoria soon faded though. They were still no closer to actually destroying either horcrux, and the proximity to two pieces of Voldemort’s soul quickly wore on them. They moved from campsite to campsite, staying hidden as long as possible. The supplies Lucius had given her ran out, and they were making do with what they could forage in the woods or steal from nearby farms and towns. Hunger made Ron in particular rather cross. While she spent hours combing through their books and looking for something, anything that might help them destroy the horcruxes or locate the missing ones, Ron sat by the radio, listening to the wizarding wireless and searching for scraps of information about his family.

Their tempers grew shorter with the days, as Britain descended fully into winter. Camping was miserable in the winter, even with warming charms and a fire. She was hungry, and dirty, and cold, and she missed Lucius terribly. They’d been able to send sporadic messages back and forth, but she’d not been able to see him at all since the day he gave her Bellatrix’s hair.

The day Ron left was significant, because it was also the day Hermione and Harry realised they’d had an answer all along. Harry had destroyed Tom Riddle’s diary with a basilisk fang, and thus the venom was able to destroy a horcrux. Basilisk venom wasn’t exactly the sort of item one could purchase in an apothecary, but it  _ was _ something they knew would work. 

Even better, this was the day she learned via “A History of Magickal Weaponse” that goblin-wrought silver could absorb stronger substances – like basilisk venom. When Harry killed Slytherin’s basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor, it had thus absorbed some of the venom. Thus if they could get their hands on either the Sword of Gryffindor or basilisk venom, they could destroy both the necklace and the cup.

Harry shared her enthusiasm at this discovery. It was true that they had neither the sword nor parts of a basilisk, and obtaining either of them would be next to impossible because the Dark Lord controlled Hogwarts, with Severus Snape at the helm. Still, it was a breakthrough, and they could at least begin to plan for how they could possibly get into the castle. Harry was unsure what had happened to the remains of the basilisk and whether there would be any venomous pieces left in the Chamber of Secrets, but if they could not get their hands on the sword once at Hogwarts, they’d have to open the chamber and search there. Either way, it was a decisive action they could take, a plan to move them further along in this seemingly impossible task.

If she’d been more observant, she would have seen how distant Ron had become. She’d been so focused though on their mission, on completing it and putting an end to the war so she could return to Lucius’s side, that she hadn’t realised just how frustrated and impatient Ron was. She knew he had long borne a chip on his shoulder, that he was deeply insecure. She had not realised just how threatened he felt by Hermione’s relationship with ‘Draco’ or how useless he felt and hopeless he’d become.

Their trio had endured petty squabbles and fights before, but nothing of this magnitude. In the midst of war, in the dead of winter, Ron left them. He gathered his things, tossed the locket onto the table in front of Hermione and walked out of the tent, out of the wards, and out of their lives.

 

~oOo~

 

She was numb for some time after Ron left. Perhaps it was shock. Even with all of their fights and petty squabbles, she’d never thought he’d actually  _ leave  _ them. She and Harry spent days in shock and silence, going through the motions of living as they separately dealt with Ron’s defection.

Eventually her mind began to wrap itself around the idea that he was really gone. Maybe it was meant to be this way, she mused. Maybe all of the signs had been there, pointing them in this direction, but like the signs of Ron’s impending departure, she and Harry had missed them. In years past, Ron had been prone to fits of anger, followed by the silent treatment over Harry’s forced entry into the Tri-Wizard Tournament or Hermione’s innocent relationship with Viktor Krum. 

Anything that he viewed as jeopardising his position as Harry Potter’s best friend, Ron took as a personal attack. She supposed Ron was okay with Harry’s attraction to Ginny, since she was family. If Harry and Ginny both survived the war and ended up together, well, Ron could hardly object to that, she mused. Having the ‘chosen one’ as a brother-in-law would be a boost to Ron’s own ego. It was inevitable though, that she herself would grow up and fall in love and bring a new wizard into their little group. Whether it happened now or five years from now, it would happen, and she suspected Ron’s insecure, angry reaction would have been the same. Ron needed to be needed, and she had completely missed how unnecessary he’d felt on their hunt. 

She tried to put herself in Ron’s shoes. She knew he was worried about his family. She worried about hers as well, even though they were lost to her, somewhere in Australia. If her parents had been magical, would she have been tempted to go home, to reassure herself that they were alive and well? She had to grudgingly admit that the temptation would be enormous because not a day went by that she didn’t want to use the bracelet to portkey to the lodge in the hopes of seeing Lucius.

Still, she hated that Ron had left. Harry needed all the support and help he could get, and the way Ron had left, the way he’d dismissed Harry’s loss, the way he’d yelled, “What do you know about it? Your parents are DEAD!” had ripped out her best friend’s heart.

Harry had lost so much, suffered so much, survived so much, and he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve to beat himself up the way he had been since Ron left.

Once it was just the two of them, Hermione found herself offering Harry whatever emotional comfort she could. At night, in the silence and darkness of the forest, he would curl up beside her on a magically expanded cot and sleep fitfully, the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. During the day, he was morose, despite her best efforts to cheer him.

They both knew that they needed to get to Hogwarts if they were ever to destroy the horcruxes, but they still had two more left to find. Was the Sword of Gryffindor a horcrux? If so, could it still be used to destroy the locket and the cup? Or would they need to first stab it with a basilisk fang as Harry had done to the diary? If the snake was indeed a horcrux, Harry reasoned that the creature would surely be near Voldemort, and perhaps should be left for last, right before Harry confronted the dark wizard.

But what of the final horcrux? Surely it was  _ something _ that had belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, something that Voldemort would have viewed with some significance. It bothered her that they had yet to figure out just what they were looking for.

As they moved stealthily around Britain under cover of night and magic, they began to formulate a plan, a way to hopefully sneak back into Hogwarts. It was too risky to keep carrying two horcruxes around with them. They had to be destroyed, lest they fall into the wrong hands. Hermione was acutely aware that if they failed in this mission to destroy Voldemort, they owed it to the rest of the magical world to weaken him as much as possible before they met their deaths.

One particularly cold, dark night, Harry looked up from the Marauders’ Map at Hermione and tilted his head at her, as if seeing her for the first time.

“How _ did _ you and Malfoy get together? You’ve never said.”

She looked up from her books and notes, surprised at his question.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m bored. I’m tired of looking at this bloody map and talking about how unhappy I am that Ron abandoned us. So I’m changing the subject. I want to hear how you and Malfoy ended up together.”

She nervously twirled a curl around her finger. “Well, um, there’s not a lot to tell.”

He looked incredulous. “I find that hard to believe. How do you go from him calling you a mudblood to you being in love and him helping us?”

She looked down at her parchments again, unwilling to meet Harry’s eye. She had kept so much from him, for so long, and it ripped at her conscience. He was her best friend, and he deserved the truth, at least, as much of it as she could safely tell. She took a deep, steadying breath before speaking.

“I fancied him, for a long time. From the moment I saw him, really.”

Harry made an odd, strangled sound, as if he couldn’t believe her words.

“I know that seems odd, but I thought him beautiful. Magic was…it was this entire new world to me, and I wanted so desperately to fit in. I don’t know that anyone other than you would understand this, but I had no friends. You were the first person to ever offer friendship to me. In the muggle world I was bright, and I did well at school, but I was this strange girl with her nose in a book all the time, and odd things happened around me. None of the other children ever wanted me around. It was… it was lonely, and I thought…”

“You thought the magical world would be a perfect fit,” Harry finished. She nodded, knowing that he’d had a similar experience as a child.

“The difference of course is that you came to the magical world as the Boy-Who-Lived. People wanted to know you. No one cared about me. I went from not fitting in in the muggle world to being thought of as an outcast, a pretender, someone with ‘dirty’ blood in the magical world.

“And then I met this wizard, this beautiful wizard with hair so pale it seemed unnatural, this wizard whose family was at the pinnacle of our world. I know that the Weasleys care little about prestige or wealth or blood status, but not everyone is like them. Our world, even before the Dark Lord came back, isn’t run by people like the Weasleys. The Malfoys… they represented everything to me.”

Harry frowned. “You’re worth ten of Malfoy, you know.”

She smiled at him and shook her head sadly. “Not to them, not to a lot of people. I needed to prove myself, to prove that I belonged here. I needed to get the best marks, the most OWLs, everything, because the deck is stacked against me after graduation. Without a war, without all of this, families like the Parkinsons, the Notts, the Malfoys, they can ensure their children’s success, even if they aren’t brilliant. I have nothing, nothing but my mind. I have to do better than them, better than all of them, to have any chance of a decent career.”

Harry looked as if he wanted to object, to defend her, so she raised her hand, indicating that she wasn’t finished. 

“I thought…you’ll think this silly of me, but I was much younger, and I thought that if I could prove myself, if someone like Malfoy – Draco – could come to respect me, respect my magic and my place in the magical world, then I’d truly belong, and I’d fit in, and I’d…I’d be wanted and valued.”

It sounded hopelessly naïve and pathetic when she voiced it aloud, and yet it had worked hadn’t it? Malfoy –  _ Lucius _ Malfoy – cared for her and risked his life to help her.

“So, you what? Tried to impress Malfoy?” Harry asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “At some point you had to think he was a right git and not worth the effort.”

She laughed lightly at the expression on his face. “Draco IS a right git a lot of the time, but the reality is that he’s not a killer.”

Harry’s expression sobered, and she knew he was thinking of the night Dumbledore died. Draco had indeed let the Death Eaters in, and he had indeed stood by as Snape killed Dumbledore, but even Harry had to grudgingly admit that Malfoy had looked incredibly upset during the entire ordeal. After Dumbledore’s funeral, he’d admitted as much to her and Ron both, that Draco had been distraught. 

“No, he’s not a killer,” Harry agreed with a sigh.

“He talks a good talk, but deep down, I think he’s struggled to live up to expectations, to be what everyone wanted and expected of him. He’s more – so much more – than the face he presents to the public,” she admitted, switching mentally from speaking about Draco to speaking about his father.

“I know everyone thinks we’re joined at the hip – you, Ron and me,” she said, ignoring the flash of pain on his face at the mention of Ron, “But you’re not with me all the time. I…I made a concerted effort to see him, to talk to him, and once I did, once I extended an olive branch to him, he took it. He… well, it’s a long story I’d rather not tell, but he did something for me, to keep me safe. He didn’t have to do it, but he did. The more time I spent around him, the more I realised that it wasn’t about proving myself any longer. It was about loving him and being loved in return.”

Harry was silent, and she dared to glance at his face, afraid of what she’d see.

“Wow,” he said softly. “I never would have thought…”

“Yeah.”

“He didn’t want the dark mark, did he?” Harry asked.

She shook her head, thinking of Lucius again. “No. He didn’t. It was forced on him. Abraxas Malfoy was in service to the Dark Lord for years before Draco or even Lucius came along.”

“So what next? When this is all over, what happens with Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“I…I do what I can to protect him, to keep him out of Azkaban. He believes he’s damned, that no one will look past the mark on his arm. But if – when – we win, I will do whatever I have to do to keep him safe like he’s tried to protect me. He wants you to win. He wants to be free from this.”

“People will assume the worst about him, because of the dark mark,” Harry acknowledged.

“I intend to tell them - the Ministry, the Wizengamot, all of them - that he helped us, that he supplied information. Harry, it’s not just that he’s passed information through me to the Order. He’s taking out the major players.”

Harry sat up straighter. “What do you mean?”

“The missions he sabotaged? They were led by members of the Dark Lord’s inner circle,” she explained. “He told the Order about them and set those wizards up for failure. Getting rid of them weakens the dark, and it keeps him and his family safe.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t care less about the Order taking out a righteous prick like Lucius Malfoy, but I don’t suppose Draco-My-Father-Will-Hear-About-This-Malfoy will give up dear old dad.”

Hermione frowned at his words. “I know it seems hard to believe, but I...I don’t think Lucius wants to be there either.”

“You don’t believe that!” Harry said in shock. “Hermione, the man tried to kill you in the Department of Mysteries!” 

She shook her head. “No, he… he was violent, but you heard him yourself that night. He didn’t want anyone dead. He just wanted to get the prophecy and get out.”

“Look, I’ll buy the idea that Draco Malfoy doesn’t want to be a Death Eater and doesn’t give a rot about the war, but Lucius? That stretches the bounds of credibility.”

Hermione sighed. Clearly she was going to have to work on Harry an awful lot between now and the end of the war if she was going to be able to protect Lucius.

“Everything I have heard about him - and from someone who knows him far better than you - is that while Lucius Malfoy may indeed be a pureblood snob, he did not want to be a Death Eater but is trapped and is just trying to keep his son alive,” she said.

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe.”

She shrugged. “You asked. I am only telling you what I know.”

He ran his fingers through his perpetually messy hair and looked as if he was trying to take this all in.

“So when this is all over, if you keep Malfoy out of Azkaban, do you see yourself with him? Like… marrying him?” he asked.

The mention of marriage was a knife twisting in Hermione’s heart, for Lucius was fully trapped within the unbreakable bonds of the Malfoy family’s matrimonial rites. Even if they won, even if she could somehow keep Lucius out of Azkaban, he was still stuck with a bitter, cold witch he did not love. She could be his mistress, his lover, and that was it.

Would that be enough for her? She’d never stopped to ponder that question, for Voldemort HAD returned, and they’d been thrust into war. In a post-war world where Harry was victorious, could she live with the knowledge that Lucius was not fully hers? That he had a wife and a grown child, an heir who absolutely hated her? Would Harry even speak to her when he knew the truth, when he discovered after the war that she was with Lucius and not Draco? What if she wanted a family of her own? Could Lucius give that to her? Would she want to bear his child if he couldn’t publicly claim their son or daughter? Would it even be possible to keep the child’s paternity a secret if it inherited Lucius’s distinctive pale blond hair?

The alternative though was a life without him. It was a life lived in black and white when she’d experienced vibrant colour. It would be like being cast from the muggle Christian Garden of Eden after experiencing its glory. Could she do that to herself? Was some happiness better than none?

Harry was still patiently waiting for her answer. She forced a smile at him. “I don’t know what lies ahead for us, for any of us, but I know that he’s my future. Whatever it looks like, he’s in it.”

Harry smiled at her in return, a genuine smile.

“I want you to have that future, Hermione. You deserve it.”


	27. Seventh Year, Part 8, 1997-1998

###  Seventh Year, Part 8, 1998

 

They spent Christmas together in Godric’s Hollow. It broke something in Hermione to realise that this was the first time Harry had ever been permitted to visit his parents’ grave. Why had no one brought him here before? The cemetery had anti-muggle charms on it, so it wasn’t as if the Dursleys could have brought him, but what about Professor Dumbledore? Hagrid? The Weasleys? Surely Remus and Sirius must know where James and Lily had been laid to rest! She knew James and Lily Potter’s dearest friends must have been sick with grief over their deaths, but surely Remus and Sirius could have set that aside long enough to bring Harry here!

Harry had been abandoned by the wizarding world when his parents died, and it seemed that even though he’d been welcomed back and had enormous responsibility thrust upon him, no one was really looking out for his emotional well-being. It infuriated Hermione. 

Harry wanted to see his godfather, to ask Sirius if he’d visited James and Lily’s graves since he’d escaped the hellhole that was Azkaban prison, to ask why Sirius had never found a way to bring him here to pay his respects to his parents. Hermione thought it risky enough to send a patronus to Sirius just to set up a time to meet, and riskier still to actually show up for a meeting, given how easily a patronus could be seen and overheard, but she instinctively knew it was a hard conversation Harry needed to have with his godfather. 

Harry was morose, and Hermione felt her own optimism lagging. It was more than just the burden of carrying two horcruxes with them. Weeks of life on the run, shivering together with Harry in the cold, hour after after of tedium with nothing to do in the woods but re-read her books and that absurd wizarding fairy tale book Dumbledore had left her, were taking their toll. She would give almost anything for another visit with Lucius - for the simple joys of a hot shower, properly laundered clothing, a full meal, and the warmth and security of his arms around her, the sound of his voice whispering filthy, seductive things in her ear as he fucked into the nearest flat surface. Lucius had no news for her though. Nothing else that could help, anyway.

It was not a happy Christmas.

Their spirits dipped lower still when their attempt to visit Bathilda Bagshot to question her about Dumbledore resulted in a nearly fatal attack by Voldemort’s snake, Nagini. As with the flight from Grimmauld Place with Ron, she and Harry barely escaped, and they were both bitter that they’d been unable to take advantage of the snake’s proximity to kill it. 

They retreated from Godric’s Hollow, afraid to check anywhere else that Voldemort could have possibly thought to leave a trap lying in wait for them. A despondent Harry admitted that he’d have to forgo reaching out to Sirius. He’d never be able to forgive himself if his own desire to check on his godfather, to receive some sort of parental comfort, resulted in harm coming to Sirius or anyone else in the Order. Hermione felt his grief but was relieved they would not be taking further risk.

She apparated them to the Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire. It was calm and peaceful here, and during the winter, it was pretty much abandoned, making it less likely they’d run into any muggles. 

“Where are we?” Harry asked after they landed and she’d set the protective wards around their campsite.

“Forest of Dean. I used to come camping here with my mum and dad,” she said as she rummaged in her extendible beaded bag for their tent and supplies.

Harry looked around at the trees and rolling hills. “It’s nice. Peaceful.”

It  _ was _ peaceful. They put up the tent and set up the campsite in silence, listening to the sound of the river in the distance. 

“Do you ever think about giving up?” she asked. She hadn’t meant to say the words, hadn’t meant to let such traitorous thoughts spill from her lips.

Harry looked surprised for a moment but then his shoulders sagged. “Yeah. I do. It’s...it’s...I never asked for this. For any of this. I’ve never been allowed to just be a normal person, you know?”

She nodded. She did know.

“Sirius wanted to leave England, to move far away from all of this. He suggested America. Can you see him on a beach?”

Hermione couldn’t help but giggle at the picture of Sirius with his long hair and wizarding robes on a beach in Florida. They went into the tent, and Harry sat down beside her on the small sofa.

“I think about quitting a lot. I think about how Sirius wanted to run away, to save me from all of this. He said Gryffindors don’t run from a fight, but he promised James and Lily he’d take care of me,” he said softly.

“He’s a good man.”

“He’s had a shite life,” Harry retorted. “He deserves better.”

“You deserve better too.”

“If it weren’t for him, knowing that he’s out there somewhere fighting the battles we can’t, I’d suggest we just stop. Live here in the woods. Grow old,” Harry whispered.

She put an arm around him and hugged him close. “I know.”

“You wouldn’t give up though.”

“I wouldn’t give up on YOU.”

He looked at her then, surprised at the vehemence of her words. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Would you give up? I mean, if you felt like you could?” he asked.

“Muggleborns are being persecuted. Forced out of jobs. Accused of ‘stealing’ magic. Locked away. There’s no life for me if I give up, at least, not in Britain. I’d have to go to that beach with you and Sirius.”

“You’d have to give up Malfoy,” he observed. 

Hermione felt her heart thud painfully at the thought. “I won’t give up either of you.”

 

~oOo~

 

All week they scoured Hermione’s stash of books, looking for something connected to Rowena Ravenclaw that Voldemort might have used as a horcrux, debating where he might have hidden it. 

“I’m telling you, if Malfoy had the diary and Bellatrix Lestrange had the cup, then surely another of his followers has whatever this item is,” Harry said.

Hermione frowned. “It’s certainly within the realm of possibility, but the reality is that a lot of his inner circle has been picked off by the Order. If they were killed, do you think He’d retrieve it and hide it somewhere else?”

He sighed. “I have no idea.”

“Okay, let’s think about this,” she said, laying out a fresh sheet of parchment. Harry was getting frustrated, and she wanted to be logical, to try to tease out solutions to this ultimate puzzle before he lost his temper again.

“All we’ve DONE is think about this!” he said in irritation, standing up to pace the short length of the tent.

“He left the diary with Lucius Malfoy. He left the cup with Bellatrix Lestrange. He left the ring in the Gaunt family home. He hid the necklace in a cave. What’s significant about those places? What do they have in common?” she asked.

“Two with his followers. Two with… well, not with anyone.”

“I guess I can kind of understand leaving the ring in the Gaunt home. It was his mother’s family home,” Harry said. “I don’t pretend to understand Tom Riddle’s mind or warped thinking, but according to Dumbledore, Riddle grew up in an orphanage. It wasn’t just that his mother died - his mother’s family never came looking for him. His father and his father’s family abandoned him. That home surely had some sort of significance to him, even if he had never lived there.”

Hermione stared at Harry for a long moment, silently noting the way he grasped the frayed hem of his jumper in his hands. 

_ He identifies with Voldemort, _ she realised with a start.  _ The lack of family, of a real home. Harry understands why the Dark Lord put the horcrux there. _

“And the cave? What was significant about that, beyond it being a damn good place to hide something?” she asked, noting that Harry looked somewhat relieved when she moved on to the cave and did not question his theory.

He ran his fingers through his messy hair. “It was somewhere he went as a child, with the other kids from the orphanage. It was surely a special occasion, going to the beach like that.”

“Okay, so it was a bright spot in a dreary existence. What else?”

Harry closed his eyes and concentrated. “It was...he did magic there. As a child. He used magic to move two of the other children into the mouth of the cave. They would not have been able to get there otherwise.”

“He literally apparated other people, without touching them?”

Harry nodded, and Hermione swallowed hard at the idea of such a display of raw, untrained magical power. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” Harry looked uncomfortable at the reminder of how powerful his opponent was.

“Do you think…” her voice trailed off.

“What?”

“Do you think he’d done that before? To someone else?”

Harry shrugged. “I apparated wandlessly as a child too.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I was trying to get away from other kids who wanted to beat me up on the playground at school. I ended up on the school roof. Aunt Petunia was very angry with me.”

She tried to draw her thoughts away from Harry’s awful childhood.

“What if the cave was significant because it was the first time he’d used magic against someone else?” she asked.

Harry frowned and consider it “That’s...actually that’s rather brilliant. Just about every witch or wizard can tell you about the first time they did magic, especially if they did something significant like that. It’s especially momentous if you’re raised in the muggle world and don’t know magic is real. I bet you’re right! That’s got to be why he chose that particular spot.” 

“Okay, so places of significance. Where else in the magical world would He deem significant?” Hermione asked. “Maybe the Ministry?”

“I hope not. It’s not exactly easy to get in there these days,” he said with a grimace.

“The Ministry is huge. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for something there,” she admitted.

“I don’t think it’s there.”

She looked up from her notes at Harry’s uncertain voice. 

“Why not? I mean, if we’re looking for places of significance to Tom Riddle, surely the Ministry of Magic has to be at the top of the list. He wants to take over the magical world, and that means toppling the seat of power.”

Harry shook her head adamantly and then sat down across from her at the table. He had a far off look in his eyes and an intensity in his voice when he spoke. 

“No, no, you’ve got it all wrong.”

She frowned. “What do you mean I’ve got it wrong?”

“It’s not about taking over the magical world.”

“Um, Harry, I have to disagree with you there. If it’s not about taking over the magical world, then - pardon my language - what the fuck is He doing?”

He waved his hand dismissively, and she was reminded of the flippant way he’d acted in sixth year when he’d taken a dose of  _ felix felicitas _ . He then reached into the pocket of his robes and took out a snitch, letting it loose for a brief second and then catching it in his hand in a repetitive motion as he paced and theorised aloud.

“No, no. What he’s doing - the whole death and destruction and fucking up a perfectly good magical world, that’s all secondary. He cares about it, at least I think he does, because he cares about power.” 

“Okay, and power resides in the Ministry, does it not?” she prompted, confused as to where Harry was going with this train of thought.

Harry paused for a moment and then stubbornly shook his head. “No, I mean, it does, and he needs to try to take over the world if he’s going to keep the support of his racist arsehole backers who think they’re better than everyone else. He craves power, not going to deny that, but I think it’s more about control and having control over the most unpredictable thing of all: death.”

He tucked the snitch back into his pocket so he could take the parchment from her and look over her notes. “Think about it, Hermione. He didn’t know he was Salazar Slytherin’s descendant when he came to Hogwarts. He was just this presumably muggleborn orphan, dropped in the snake’s den.”

Hermione shivered at the thought. In her experience, members of Slytherin House could be cruel under the best of circumstances. A poor orphan student believed to be a muggleborn would surely have been mistreated from the start. 

“Having power, having control meant survival. He had to prove himself. He had to be better than any of them to survive in Slytherin. It wasn’t just enough to show up and get good marks. He had to best them all to prove that he was worthy of being there.” 

Harry’s words reminded her distinctly of her own girlish thoughts many years ago on a warm August evening. She’d been so young, so naive when she’d made a promise to herself that she would somehow prove herself to Lucius Malfoy, prove that she was worthy of being in the magical world. Something inside of her twisted painfully at the thought that SHE, Hermione Granger, muggleborn witch, was somehow  _ like _ the Dark Lord.

No, no she wasn’t like Him, she told herself. She was not a sociopath with delusions of grandeur and mass destruction, bent on the quixotic pursuit of immortality.

“That’s what this is about. Survival. That’s what all of this is about - the horcruxes. It’s about survival, about having the ultimate power over death. THAT’S what he wants,” Harry continued.

“Yes,” she said slowly. “I get that. Horcruxes. Power over death. Immortality. Got it.”

She pushed out a hard breath in frustration. Harry was talking in circles. Of course Voldemort wanted immortality, of course taking over the magical world was secondary to His desire to live forever. They knew this already! 

“The home of his magical family, the descendants of Salazar Slytherin. The birthplace of his own magic and his ability to use it against others. The birthplace of Lord Voldemort himself.”

He looked up at her with a wide grin. 

“The other horcrux is at Hogwarts.”

She stared at him in silence for a long moment before jerking the parchment back from his hands. She skimmed her own notes and replayed his words in her head: his mother’s home and thus the origin of his magical lineage, the birthplace of his own magic, and Hogwarts. 

Hogwarts. 

It was the first place Harry - also an orphan - had described as HIS home, and being muggleborn herself, she could understand the school’s significance. To have any success at building a life in the magical world as an outsider, you had to succeed at Hogwarts. Had war not come calling, she’d be there now, hopefully as Head Girl, with a bright future ahead of her. 

Hogwarts wasn’t just Tom Riddle’s first real home though. It was where He’d first gathered His followers, including Lucius’s father, Abraxas. It was where He’d created the precursor to the Death Eaters. It was where the persona of Lord Voldemort was first created.

She looked up at Harry again with wide eyes and then flung herself across the table into a surprised Harry’s arms.

“That’s… Harry, my god. That’s...you’re brilliant! You brilliant, wonderful wizard!”

His surprise gave way to laughter as he hugged her back. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!” she exclaimed. “Of COURSE it must be at Hogwarts. It all makes so much sense!”

He released her then and tugged playfully at one of her curls. “You said I was brilliant. I want that written down somewhere that on this day, Hermione Jean Granger said that I, Harry James Potter, am BRILLIANT.”

She dissolved into giggles as well, the first time she’d really laughed since Ron left them. It felt good to laugh, and it felt good to finally feel like they were making progress.

 

~oOo~

 

As soon as she had time and space to herself, Hermione used her bracelet to message Lucius.

_ It’s at Hogwarts. Unsure where.  _

She waited impatiently for a response that did not come for another hour. 

_ Do you know what it is? _

She replied in the negative and hoped he might have some sort of insight. She had no idea how Lucius was occupying himself lately, no way of knowing whether he’d had the time to study his extensive library of magical texts and gain any additional insight that might help them. 

_ Suggest you find a trusted Ravenclaw to ask, but stay out of sight. Hogwarts NOT safe for you. _

_ No riding dragons then? _

She smiled as she sent the message back to him.

_ Absolutely no dragons, pet. Stay hidden. _

She sighed wistfully at her wrist as his message faded from view. At one point in her life she would have scoffed at the absurdity of a teenage witch pining over a wizard, but she’d grown so accustomed to her desire for Lucius that it had long since become her normal. She frowned then as she took in his message. Find a Ravenclaw. Stay hidden. How were they supposed to do both? The only logical, reasonable answer was that she and Harry would somehow have to get to Hogwarts and hide within the castle itself.

Coming to the conclusion that the horcrux - something that had belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw - was hidden at Hogwarts was thrilling, but reality soon set in. They were still unsure as to what this magical item actually was, they had no idea where in the enormous castle it could have been hidden, and oh yes, there was that minor little detail about the school being under Death Eater control with Severus Snape at the helm. Oh, and they were still in possession of two horcruxes they’d been unable to destroy. 

She tried to not let these enormous odds affect Harry’s good mood. Instead, they spread out the Marauders’ Map on the table and studied the building at length, looking for patterns to the movements of the Death Eaters, professors and students. Hermione noticed that Harry watched the little dot labeled ‘Ginevra Weasley’ but opted to not say anything to her friend. There was no point in making Harry melancholy over the whole situation. He’d left Ginny behind to protect her, but she could tell that his affection for Ron’s younger sister had not faded. 

Over the course of several days of watching the map, they discovered a few important things. Alecto and Amycus Carrow - both marked Death Eaters turned professors - had an established and predictable schedule, which would make it easier to slip past them undetected. The tunnel from the basement of Honeydukes into Hogwarts had been blocked off where it should have led into the school. Harry blamed Snape for that and Hermione was inclined to agree, although she secretly thought that it made sense for a headmaster to want to make a school more secure. 

After all, Dumbledore hadn’t done the best job keeping danger at bay: Voldemort had lived in the back of Professor Quirrel’s head, a basilisk had roamed the building, Sirius in his animagus form got into the castle as did Peter Pettigrew, a Death Eater polyjuiced as Alastor Moody pretended to be a teacher all year and then tried to kill Harry, Umbridge had tortured students, and then Draco had used vanishing cabinets to let Death Eaters into the castle so a professor could murder the headmaster. Had it not been for the whole “Death Eater/murderer” thing, she might be inclined to think that Severus Snape was at least better at keeping the students safe from outside attacks.

She wondered then if the vanishing cabinets were still at Borgin and Burke’s and at Hogwarts and if so, if they were still functional. That would definitely be one way into the castle, but it was too risky to try without knowing for sure - if either cabinet had been damaged in some way, they could end up lost indefinitely in some strange in-between state. 

She was drawn from her thoughts when Harry glanced at his watch and heaved a sigh. It past time for them to split up for the night. It was her turn to sleep first whilst he kept watch. 

As she did each time she prepared to sleep, Hermione checked her bracelet. She’d not felt the telltale warmth of an incoming message, but she checked all the same. It was hard to restrain herself from messaging him daily, but she did not want to risk his life just to remind him that she loved him and was thinking about him.

She’d had plenty of nightmares about Lucius, but this time, her dreams were pleasant, at least at first. She was in a room with Lucius that looked somewhat like his lodge in Scotland, and he was doing the most delightful things to her body. 

She honestly couldn’t say what woke her up. 

One moment she was writhing against her lover, and the next she was jerked from sleep. She stared up at the ceiling of the tent, breathing hard as she stretched muscles that felt rigid and tight. She paused in her movement and listened for sounds to indicate that something was amiss. 

She heard nothing, but somehow, she just knew that something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When reading the books, I thought the whole 'pain and a vision through his scar' thing was used a bit much to help Harry figure out what was happening. He's not unintelligent, and I wanted him to have a chance to put the pieces together and make that connection for himself that his own upbringing and the connection he had to Hogwarts was not all that dissimilar from Voldemort's. I hope that read okay to all of you. There is something BIG coming in the next two chapters, and I am so excited to share it with you! 
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to share your thoughts about this story with me! I love reading your theories about where this is all going and your thoughts on Hermione, Lucius, Draco, Harry, and others.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle


	28. Seventh Year, Part 9, 1998

###  Seventh Year, Part 9, 1998

 

She grabbed her wand and cast  _ tempus _ , noting the late hour. It wasn’t time to relieve Harry of his duty. Normally she would have attempted to go back to sleep, but tonight something stopped her. Instead she decided instead to put on her coat, hat, scarf, and gloves and venture outside to check on Harry. He could probably use some company anyway. 

Except that Harry wasn’t seated right outside the tent. 

He was not beside the fire. 

Nor was he sitting beneath the big pine tree on the makeshift chair they’d created from transfigured pine boughs. 

Perhaps, she thought, he’d wandered off to relieve himself behind a tree. She waited and listened in the still of the forest but heard no footsteps, nothing that sounded like Harry. 

She shivered and felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Something was wrong. She was certain of it. Harry wouldn’t just wander off when he was supposed to be on duty. They had a protocol they followed, for their own safety. She cast  _ lumos _ and scanned the campsite and the surrounding woods. 

Nothing. No sign of Harry. No sign of a struggle. 

Her wards were strong, she was certain of it, and she would have detected someone breaking through them. Harry had to be within the perimeter of the campsite.

Either that, or he’d left the warded area voluntarily. 

She tried not to panic as she scanned the area again, looking for any sign of him. He could have disapparated, she realised, and he could be anywhere. 

She almost missed the tracks, the footprints in the patchy snow. They led east, away from the campsite, and she followed them, whispering a silent prayer for Harry’s safety.

She followed the tracks as they wove through the trees, until she reached a snow-less bit of ground and lost him. A wave of inspiration came to her then, and she wanted to curse at herself for not thinking of it sooner.

“Point me!” she whispered, holding out her wand. The vine wood jerked to the left, and she followed it through the woods until she came to a small pond. Her heart sunk as she saw Harry’s coat, scarf, and mittens on the ground at the edge of the pond. Surely he wouldn’t be crazy enough to get in the frigid water…

The surface of the pond rippled, and she held her wand out, casting light over the dark water. 

Oh god, yes, he  _ was _ that insane, she realised in horror. She could barely make out the shape of a figure, moving below the surface of the murky water. 

She dropped her wand and started to strip off her coat before she paused. For a brief second she could almost hear Lucius’s drawling voice in her head. 

_ Are you a witch or not? _

She clutched her wand and cast the most powerful levitation spell she could manage. A wet Harry was much heavier than the feathers they’d floated about in first year charms class, and it was much harder to lift something from the water than lift something through the air. She was panting by the time Harry’s soaked and shivering figure emerged from the water As soon as he was in shallow enough water, she dropped him not so gracefully and rushed to his aid as he coughed up pond water. He stumbled, his legs not functioning from the cold water, and crawled onto the muddy bank of the pond.

“Harry! Oh my god, Harry! Are you okay? What the hell were you thinking?” she cried as she half-hugged, half shook her wet friend. His skin was blue and icy to the touch.

“I g-g-got it,” he said, teeth chattering from the cold.

She looked down and realised just what he had clasped in his hands.

“Is that…”

“The sword. It was in the p-p-pond.”

The Sword of Gryffindor. 

The very object they’d identified as capable of destroying a horcrux - and possibly a horcrux itself - was clutched in Harry’s pale, shivering hands.

“How on earth did you find it?” 

He wiped some of the water from his face and brushed his wet hair back from his face.

“So cold,” he whispered.

“Oh god. I’m such an idiot!” she whispered to herself. Of course he was cold! She immediately cast warming and drying charms on him.

“Come on, let’s get back to the campsite and get you in new clothes and in front of a fire.” 

She was a nervous wreck at how exposed they were outside the wards around the campsite, and she hurried him back to safety. Despite the warming and drying charms, he was still shivering by the time she plopped him down in front of the flames and added two more logs for good measure. Harry still clutched the sword of Gryffindor as she wrapped a blanket around him.

“Are you going to tell me what possessed you to go for a swim in the middle of winter?” she finally asked, irritation bubbling up at how easily he could have died, how quickly hypothermia could have set in and drowned him. 

She listened with wide-eyed surprise as he told her about the mysterious doe patronus that had emerged from the woods, and how he’d followed it to the pond where he saw the sword through the water.

A slight stinging hex flew from her wand before she could stop herself.

“YOU UNBELIEVABLE, BRASH, STUPID GRYFFINDOR!”

“What?” 

“You could have been killed!” she hissed. “Harry, that patronus could have come from ANYONE!”

“It was a doe though.”

“So?”

“So my mum’s patronus was a doe as well,” he said simply, as if this minor detail explained everything.

She was utterly dumbfounded by his logic.

“Harry, had I not woken up, had I not gotten up to look for you, you’d be dead at the bottom of that pond right now.”

He at least had the decency to look ashamed. He tugged at Slytherin’s locket, still hanging from his neck. 

“Pretty sure the damned thing tried to drown me.”

She stared at him in wide-eyed horror before she found her voice again.

“What possessed you to jump in the water? Why didn’t you just summon the damn thing?” she asked as she dried her own clothes where they’d gotten damp helping him back to their tent.

“Well, that’s the thing, ‘Mione - it couldn’t be summoned. I tried,” he said with a small shrug of his shoulders. “I think maybe you have to commit some sort of act of bravery to get it.”

Hermione rubbed her eyes in frustration. Stupid bloody sword. Who put that kind of an enchantment on a damn sword? And just how in the hell was jumping in a frigid lake in the winter ‘brave?’ Reckless was more like it. 

“Why didn’t you just wake me so I could help you?” she asked with a weary sigh. She’d not slept well in ages, and it was beginning to catch up with her.

He looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t want to risk the sword disappearing. I don’t know how it ended up in the pond, but I didn’t want to risk going back to camp to get you and losing sight of it. Besides - you were there. How did you know to be there?”

She sat down beside him in front of the fire. “I didn’t. I...I don’t know why I woke up. I was having a rather nice dream, actually. Bit disappointed that it ended. I panicked when I didn’t see you by the fire, and I followed your footprints in the snow and used a point-me spell to find you.”

He draped an arm over her shoulder and hugged her. “I’d be lost without you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

He released her and stood abruptly to pull Helga Hufflepuff’s cup and Slytherin’s locket from his now-dry robes.

“So, what do you say? Wanna destroy some horcruxes?” he asked with a grin.

“Now? Harry, it’s… 2 am,” she said, glancing at her watch. 

“No time like the present. Which one do you want to stab with the sword?” He held the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and clutched the cup and necklace in the other.

“You want ME to destroy one?” she asked with a squeak. 

Harry was the Chosen One, the one who was supposed to end Voldemort, if one believed in prophecies. It was nothing short of miraculous that the sword had appeared for Harry, but then she supposed, why wouldn’t it appear for him? He’d pulled it from the Sorting Hat in the Chamber of Secrets, hadn’t he? 

It seemed almost wrong that  _ she _ destroy a horcrux.

“Sure. Why not? You helped me get them, didn’t you?” he offered. “It just seems right that we should both get to destroy one. Which one do you want?”

She looked at both items before making a decision. “The cup. Regulus died getting the necklace out of that cave, so I think, well, really Sirius should have the honour of destroying it, but since he’s not here, you should do it.”

Harry nodded sagely. “Makes sense.”

He moved them both away from the fire to the edge of the campsite and placed the cup in the snow.

“I know we said we thought the sword could be a horcrux, but I’m rather convinced it’s not,” he said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I had both the horcruxes on me, didn’t I? If the sword was a horcrux, then you’d think the dark magic in it would have called out to the other two, the way the locket called out to the cup in the vault.”

“It didn’t?” she prompted.

He shook his head. “Nope. Damned thing jerked away from my neck and tried to pull me back down to the bottom of the pond once I had my hands on the sword. The cup may have tried to do the same thing, but by that point, everything I had on was so wet and heavy anyway, it was hard to tell.”

He offered her a grim smile, and she stared back at him, amazed that time after time, Harry managed to survive incidents that would have killed lesser wizards. 

“Okay, so if this works like the basilisk fang worked with the diary, you should be able to just stab it,” he said. “It’ll fight back, probably make some awful noise, and this black stuff will seep out of it. Kind of like… like…”   


“Ichor?” she asked. Harry looked at her blankly. 

“Nevermind. Stab it. Awful noise. Black stuff. Got it,” she said.

He held out the sword, and she clasped the jeweled pommel in her hand, admittedly a bit in awe that she was holding Godric Gryffindor’s famed sword. It was lighter than she’d anticipated, and she wondered if it had a lightweight charm of some kind applied to it. Surely it did for a 12 year old Harry to be able to wield it against a basilisk. 

She stared down at the gold cup, unsure how she was supposed to stab it with a sword. Would the sword penetrate another metal? How did that even work?

“Don’t overthink it. Just do it,” Harry said encouragingly, sensing her reticence.

_ Here goes nothing _ , she thought as she lifted the sword, pointing the sharp end at the cup. She brought the tip down as hard she could, putting as much force into her movement as possible. 

To Hermione’s surprise, the sword pierced the golden cup, slicing through the metal. As it did so, an inhuman shriek of agony emanated from the damaged vessel.

“Don’t drop the sword!” Harry yelled before she could react to cover her ears at the awful noise. 

She tightened her grip on the pommel, pressing harder to pin the cup to the ground. The scream faded to a hissing sound, and she realised then that it was the same voice, the same horrid, vicious hissing whisper she heard when she wore Slytherin’s locket.

_ “I have seen your heart, and it is mine.” _

She had carried the cup before, in the pocket of her robes, but it had not tormented her as much as the locket had. But this… this was new. The horcrux trapped within the cup was actually  _ speaking _ . Aloud.    


_ “You want so desperately to prove yourself, to fit in, and you think he can give that to you,”  _ the voice hissed.

Hermione stared at the cup as a thick black substance began leaking from the point where the sword punctured the golden chalice. 

“Don’t let go, Hermione!” Harry said. He stepped forward to put his hands on her, to help her hold onto the sword, but it was as if an invisible barrier blocked him from touching her.

She watched, entranced, as a mist swirled from the black liquid, moving upward and thickening. It churned and became a cloud that hovered in between her and Harry until it dissipated enough to make out two silvery figures. 

Her eyes widened in shock as she realised the figures in the mist were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. 

It was the first time she’d laid eyes on Lucius in ages, and he was beautiful, so beautiful, and she’d missed him so much. His long blond hair was straight and smooth over his tailored robes. His familiar snake-head cane was in one hand, and with the other, he held onto his wife. 

The shimmery image of Narcissa Malfoy moved closer to her husband, and Hermione was struck again by how absurdly, inhumanly perfect Lucius’s wife appeared. The lithe, willowy figure in formal dress robes leaned into her husband and trailed a manicured hand over his chest.

_ “Such a silly, pathetic little thing, Lucius. Whatever were you thinking?”  _ Her voice was amused, derisive in tone.

Hermione sucked in a breath at Narcissa’s words. Her hands felt suddenly clammy as she grasped the pommel of the sword. 

_ “Darling, she’s Potter’s mudblood. Why wouldn’t I take advantage of such a naive, innocent little girl? She was so eager, so terribly eager to learn from me, to spread her legs for me, weren’t you, pet?” _

His voice drawled in that same seductive way he’d always spoken to her, and he looked at her then, a smirk twisting his lips.

“Hermione?” 

She tore her eyes from the image in the mist to see Harry, dear, sweet Harry. He looked so utterly confused, and she knew, knew then that he could see and hear every single thing emerging from that awful mist.

_ “I will admit that I would rather not roll about in the mud, but sacrifices must be made for the Dark Lord, you know.” _

Lucius sneered at her, and Hermione blinked back tears. His voice was suddenly cold, so horribly, painfully cold. He’d never talked to her like that, ever. 

_ “Why on earth would you ever believe that MY husband, Lucius Malfoy, scion of the house of Malfoy, member of the Sacred 28, would ever lower himself to care for the likes of YOU?” _

Narcissa’s sneer twisted her beautiful face before she leaned in to pressed a possessive kiss to her husband’s cheek.

_ “Lucius LOVES me. He’s always loved me. But not you. You’re nothing. You’re a pathetic piece of filth he soiled himself with in service to the Dark Lord.” _

_ “Yes, the Dark Lord is most pleased with me. He hardly believed me when I told Him the mudblood gave me the prophecy herself, but He agreed we should take advantage of such a brilliant opportunity.”  _

Lucius’s voice was a seductive purr, and Hermione was hypnotised by it, even as she felt the bile rise in her throat at his words.

_ “As far as missions go, I could not have asked for a more satisfying one. After the Dark Lord kills Potter, He has agreed to let me keep you, pet. And you are such a good pet, aren’t you? You knelt so prettily before me with your mouth open for my cock. It’s where you should be, on your knees, before your betters.” _

“It’s… it’s not REAL, Hermione!” Harry yelled. “It’s NOT REAL. STAB IT AGAIN!” 

“Stab,” she whispered, unable to tear her eyes from the silvery, shimmering couple before her.

_ “He never cared about you. He doesn’t LOVE you.” _

Narcissa’s laughter was knives stabbing at her heart.

“STAB THE CUP, HERMIONE!” 

_ “How could I love filth like you when I have such a perfect pureblooded wife? You’re a pathetic, insecure, naive little whore who doesn’t belong in our world. If you weren’t Potter’s best friend, you’d be worthless to me after a good fuck.” _

She felt a hot tear slide down her cheek as his words cut through her and reverberated in her brain. 

_ You are nothing, you are nothing. He doesn’t care about you.  _

“HERMIONE STAB IT AGAIN!”

Somehow, Harry’s frantic shouts cut through the mist, cut through the horrible, hateful words coming from the image of the man she loved. Her palms, sweaty with fear, slipped on the sword. She could barely see the cup through the haze of her tears.

She drew on all of her Gryffindor bravery to try to block the taunts and sneers from Lucius and Narcissa, and choking back a sob, she tightened her grip on the sword. 

_ You are nothing. _

She drew in a shaky breath and lifted the sword from the cup, blinking down at the gash in the metal.

_ Filthy whore. _

“DO IT! STAB IT!” Harry yelled.

_ Pathetic, worthless. _

With a primal scream, Hermione plunged the point of the sword down again, spearing the metal. The mist swirled harder, and that awful scream returned.

“I’m not nothing. You’re not real,” she whispered.

Darkness leached from the cup, into the mist, and to her immense relief, the silvery, shimmering, sneering images of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy swirled into nothingness.

A sickening hiss, a last gasp emanated from the cup, and then silence.

It was done.

She fell to her knees in the snow, still holding onto the sword with a death grip, and broke down into heaving sobs and what she’d just witnessed, what she’d just done.

“It’s not real, it wasn’t real,” she whispered to herself, mindless of the tears dripping down her face. “It was Him. It was the horcrux.”

She knew, logically she knew. It was the horcrux. It was the tainted bit of Voldemort’s soul. 

She’d worn the locket, she’d carried the cup. She knew how the dark magic within had whispered to her, taunting her, playing on her fears and insecurities. 

What she’d just witnessed wasn’t real. Lucius loved her, not Narcissa. He loved her, and he would never think of her in such a horrible way. He wanted out, he wanted to be free from the Dark Lord’s service, and he was helping them. None of this had been real. 

Her mind knew this. It was much harder to convince her heart. 

“Hermione?”

The hushed whisper of her name from Harry’s lips drew her back to the present and startled her. She dropped the sword and scrambled back from the soiled cup. She ended up on her arse on the cold ground as she wiped at her face with the sleeve of her coat. 

She was alive. She was alive, and none of this was real, and Lucius was fine. He was fine, and she would message him with the bracelet, and he would tell her that all was well. 

A tiny burst of hysterical laughter bubbled from her lips. She’d done it! She’d destroyed a horcrux! They had the sword! 

“Hermione?”

The sound of her name being called yet again finally cut through the chaos of her mind and she looked up. Standing a few meters away, still clutching the blanket she’d wrapped round him, was Harry Potter, and from the look on his face, she realised then that he’d witnessed the entire thing.

Harry’s face was white, ashen from cold and shock, and his hands were balled into fists. 

“What,” he hissed, “the fuck was THAT?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise that this chapter would be big in terms of importance to the story. So, there it is. I know, I know, I'm evil for leaving you with an even bigger cliffhanger than last time. I'm really struggling with some upcoming chapters, and I am trying very hard to not miss a weekly update. You WILL get another update next week, I can promise that. I know you're all anxious for more, and I'm really trying to get it all written. When I started this journey back before Christmas, I had no idea I'd still be writing in late July. This story took on a life of its own, and it's so much more involved now than I ever anticipated when I started the outline for it months ago. Thank you so much for continuing to read and share your thoughts with me. 
> 
> -Elle


	29. Seventh Year Part 10 1998

###  Seventh Year, Part 10, 1998  
  


She hastily wiped at her eyes again and pushed herself up from the ground on shaky legs.

“It’s nothing.”

Even to her, the denial sounded half-hearted and unbelievable.

“That was LUCIUS and NARCISSA MALFOY!”

“It… Draco...I…” 

For once in her life, her mind failed her. She simply could not think of the proper words to string together that would somehow salvage this nightmare.

Harry knew. 

He had seen Lucius in the mist, heard the awful words he’d said. And he knew.

“It was never Draco,” Harry said slowly, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Harry, please,” she said, taking a step toward him.

He held up his hands defensively and stepped back from her.

“You  _ gave _ him the prophecy? You… GAVE my prophecy to...to a Death Eater?”

“Harry…”

“Is that where it started? Or was it even earlier? He’s a predator, Hermione, and you - god, you were still a kid.”

She opened her mouth but couldn’t get out words.

“All this time. You...Malfoy? LUCIUS Malfoy? That’s why Mal- Draco - cursed you, isn’t it?” he said as he mentally put the pieces together.

A fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. 

“Harry, just… calm down for a moment.”

“CALM DOWN?” He yelled. “You - my best friend - you’re FUCKING Lucius Malfoy? He’s a DEATH EATER! He’s…”

Harry took another step back from her and stumbled over a tree root. He regained his balance quickly and tugged at his hair. 

“My best friend...and HIM. He’s in the inner circle. He’s a MURDERER!”

“No! He’s not. He’s not a murderer,” she shot back immediately, even though she knew of the muggle woman Lucius had been forced to kill. That one didn’t count, she’d often told herself.

“He doesn’t want this Harry, he doesn’t want any of this.”

“How can you be so STUPID? He’s USING YOU!”

“No, he’s not. I promise, he’s not!” she insisted.

“He’s part of the inner circle! Don’t be so stupid, Hermione! Bloody fucking hell, what happened to you? Did he do this? Did he  _ imperius _ you? I’ll fucking kill him!” He snarled.

“No! No, Harry, he didn’t hurt me. He wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.”

Harry laughed bitterly. “God, how can you be so fucking stupid? He’s using you to get to me. You HEARD that, just now.”

“No, that was the horcrux! Harry, it wasn’t real. Lucius, he - he wouldn’t do that!” she insisted. She knew, deep down she knew, that the horcrux was playing on her own fears, her own insecurities. Lucius had given her no reason to distrust him.

Harry looked down at the arm that hung limply at her side. “He gave you that, didn’t he?” he said, pointing to the bracelet that never left her wrist.

She followed his gaze and touched the bracelet protectively. “He did.”

“You - you’ve had that for ages! How long has this been going on? Did he - you, it was your birthday. Seventeen. Oh my god, you were a child, Hermione, that’s sick! He’s fucking sick!”

“No, he’s not. He - I approached him. I did. He..”

“Don’t try to justify it. Just… don’t. Did he rape you, or did you willingly spread your legs for a Death Eater?” he hissed.

She recoiled, as if she’d been slapped. His words were reminiscent of Sirius’s, and it broke her heart to hear them from her best friend. 

“Lucius would  _ never _ do that to me. Ever.”

“All this time, Hermione, ALL THIS TIME, I’ve thought you were with Mal - Draco. You LIED to me. You lied to me, you lied to Ron. You’ve done nothing but lie for years! You gave him the prophecy! You lied to me! How could you? I TRUSTED YOU!”

“You CAN trust me! Haven’t I proved that? I’ve given up EVERYTHING to help you, Harry! I’ve risked my life over and over and over again for you! I’ve given up my final year of school. I’ve given up my PARENTS. My  _ parents _ , Harry. I did that for you! I’ve worn that damned locket and carried that bloody fucking cup and rode a dragon and was chased by a snake and camped in the woods and starved and risked my life to help you end this nightmare!”

There was no holding back the deluge of tears then. Her emotions were already overwrought from Harry’s brush with death and the horrific experience with the horcrux. 

“We’re risking our lives, and you’re sharing information with Voldemort’s inner circle!” 

“He wants out. He’s always wanted out. He never wanted this. He wants Him gone!” she sobbed.

“He’s playing both sides of the field! How can you be so fucking naive?” he shot back. “God, he - I don’t even want to think about how much information you’ve told him about the Order.”

She breathed out sobbing hiccups as Harry paced angrily back and forth across the campsite. 

“Does he know?”

She looked up at him from her spot on the cold, hard ground. 

“What?”

“What we’re doing out here, what our task is? Does. He. Know?” he ground out, pointing at the remnants of Helga Hufflepuff’s golden chalice.

She opened her mouth to respond but did not know what to say. To admit that she’d told Lucius about the horcruxes was to admit that she’d broken Harry’s trust and would only confirm his worst fears. But to lie, to lie now, when she was so desperate for him to believe in her and in her sincerity seemed inherently wrong.

“He’s helping us,” she whispered. “He is. He...he helped me research, gave me spells I could try to destroy the necklace. He figured out where the cup was hidden. He’s the one who gave me Bellatrix Lestrange’s hair, so we could get the cup.”

“YOU TOLD HIM?”

“He’s HELPING us!” she sobbed. “We couldn’t have done this without him? Don’t you see? If it weren’t for him, we could have been captured or killed at Grimmauld Place. If it weren’t for him we wouldn’t have been able to get the cup.”

She had to make him understand, she had to make him see just how much they’d needed Lucius. She did not want to even consider just how lost they’d be without Lucius’s help. Harry had been willing to accept that help when it came from Draco. 

“He’s EVIL! He...he GAVE Ginny that diary, he gave a HORCRUX to an 11 year old kid!” Harry yelled.

“He didn’t know what it was! I swear! He didn’t!” she gasped.

He laughed incredulously at her. “Please, Hermione, PLEASE tell me that you aren’t that stupid. It’s bullshite. All of it. God, he’s really done a number on you.”

Harry paced as he ran his fingers angrily through his hair, muttering to himself. Hermione, for her part, was still frozen on the ground, unsure how to calm her best friend. It was not unexpected that he’d blow up like this. After all, she could admit to herself that, however good her intentions had been, this was still a pretty big secret she’d kept from him. He would rage. He would be furious.

But then he’d calm down.

He’d calm down because they were stuck in the woods in the midst of a war and a fight for their very survival.

He stopped pacing, his back to her, and stood in silence as if trying to gather his thoughts. Hermione pushed herself up from the ground and brushed off her worn denims. She would have to apologise. A lot. Maybe even see about arranging a meeting between Lucius and Harry. Surely if Harry could sit down with Lucius, could see and hear with his own eyes and ears just how very much Lucius wanted out from under the despotic thumb of the Dark Lord, he would understand. 

And then it would be okay, she told herself.

“I want you to leave.”

She was drawn from her plans and thoughts by Harry’s quiet statement.

“W-what?”

He turned to face her then. 

“I said I want you to leave.”

“What? Why? You can’t be serious?” she stammered.

“You’ve compromised everything, Hermione,  _ everything _ . I didn’t even tell Sirius why we needed to find R.A.B. and that locket. He’s my  _ godfather _ , my only real family left, and I didn’t tell him. But you - you told a Death Eater. You told Voldemort’s right hand man. You claim he’s helping you, but you don’t know that for certain. You claim he wants out, but how can you really know? Dumbledore  _ insisted _ Snape was trustworthy, dismissed all of my fears, all of my suspicions, and Snape KILLED HIM.”

“Lucius isn’t Snape,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He’s not.”

“I don’t give a flying bloody fuck!” he yelled back. “I can’t trust him, and I can’t trust you.”

“You can! Harry, you can trust me.”

“Take your clothes, your personal things. I assume you can use your bracelet to go back to your Death Eater.”

He was really going to do it. He was kicking her out, out of their campsite, out of his hunt for horcruxes. After all of these years, everything they’d done together, everything she’d sacrificed for Harry, for their safety and their freedom, for the magical world… and he was tossing her aside. 

No, no, he couldn’t do that, she thought desperately. He  _ needed _ her. He needed Lucius. Ron had already left them, and Harry couldn’t possibly do this alone! How was he to sneak into Hogwarts, find and destroy Rowena Ravenclaw’s mysterious artifact, find and kill Nagini, AND fight Voldemort, all without her help? It simply wasn’t doable. 

He would have to turn to Sirius, to the Order, and then she knew. She knew Harry, and she  _ knew _ that he’d get bogged down in wanting to help with whatever the immediate needs were because he was incapable of turning his back on someone in need, and the hunt for the final horcruxes would be delayed, with potentially disastrous results.

The very success of their mission depended on her.

Harry had turned his back on her and stomped into the tent. She could not see him, but she could hear him rummaging about, likely gathering her things. She swallowed hard and considered her options. 

She could leave. She could return to Lucius’s side and give Harry some space until he calmed down. But no, that would not work. She would be unable to find him again if she left and he picked up camp and moved somewhere else. Besides, she’d never forgive herself if anything happened to Harry in her absence. What if he got hurt? What if he was captured? 

And what of Lucius? How could she possibly explain to Lucius that she’d failed? Lucius was risking  _ everything  _ to help her, to help Harry, and she could not bear the idea of telling him that she’d let him down, that Harry did not want their help.

No, leaving was not an option. 

She had to fix this. 

If only she still had that time turner from third year, if only she could go back and somehow undo Harry witnessing her vision from the horcrux, she thought desperately. 

A solution sparked in her mind, and perhaps, under a different set of circumstances, she would have ignored it, would have looked for another option. But desperate times often did call for the most desperate of measures, and in the face of war and chaos, there simply wasn’t time to come up with a more reasonable solution, not when Harry was being so unreasonable.

If she couldn’t turn back time, she would simply have to remove the memory of her destruction of the horcrux from his mind.

She had done it before, with her parents. She could do it again, she told herself. This was simple in comparison, just a precious few minutes of time to erase and replace. She could do this. She had no time to come up with another option, she reasoned.

_ It’s dark magic. You intend to use dark magic against your best friend, against the savior of the light. _

Some part of her, deep within, recoiled in horror at the very idea of using dark magic again against someone else she loved, but Hermione willed that part of her mind to quiet. War was never truly black and white. That was only for fairy tales and pretty stories the victors fed to the masses. War was terror and suffering and misery and acknowledging that sometimes you had to do bad things for the greater good, that sometimes the ends really did justify the means.

Her hand shook as she raised her wand, pointing it toward Harry’s back. 

_ Do it now! Do it before he turns around! This is your only chance! He can learn the truth later, after the war. _

She forced herself to take a deep steadying breath. 

_ This is the right thing to do. Harry needs you, and he’s not thinking rationally. You can fix everything. _

The whispered incantation slipped from her lips, powered by the force of her magic. 

The spell was considered inherently dark, as it merged a lesser cousin of the  _ imperius _ curse with a memory charm that allowed the user to not just remove a memory but replace it with something else entirely. 

Magic twisted and turned within her, coiling and uncoiling like a snake, slithering through her blood, her veins, before shooting from the vine wand clasped in her shaking hand.

The curse hit Harry from behind, and he paused before turning toward her, a blank look on his face. She held her wand steady, focusing on the memory she wanted to replace, as he walked slowly toward her. 

A fresh wave of tears streamed down her cheeks when she at least lowered her wand and collapsed onto the cold ground. 

She’d really done it.

She’d used dark magic against her best friend. She was a terrible, horrible person.

That same awful unsettled feeling she’d experienced after wiping her parents’ memories and sending them on their way bubbled within her. She wanted to claw at her chest, to rip out the turmoil inside of her. Instead she sat pathetically on the ground, sobbing.

“Shhh… it’s okay, ‘Mione. It’s okay,” Harry’s soothing voice reached her ears before she felt his hand on her arms and shoulders. His attempt at comfort, the result of her spellwork, only made her sob harder.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried.

He shifted onto the ground beside her, wrapping her arms around her. “You have nothing to apologise for. That was… intense. I… I knew the horcrux could talk, in my head, but I didn’t know there’d be a visual with it. Seeing myself and Ron killed by Voldemort that’s...that’s upsetting to anyone.”

She continued to cry, her body racked with guilt at his mention of the false memory she’d implanted. In his mind, he’d seen his and Ron’s murders play out in the mist from the horcrux while Voldemort taunted her. It was admittedly a horrific vision and one she might have had herself had Lucius not been in her life.

“Hey, c’mon now, it’s okay. It wasn’t real,” he said soothingly, hugging her tighter, “And you did it - you destroyed the horcrux!”

They sat together on the ground, Hermione huddled in Harry’s embrace until she managed to pull herself together. 

“It was so much worse than wearing it,” she whispered as she wiped at her eyes.

“I probably should have gone first. That was pretty reckless to just do it without taking any precautions to protect us,” he admitted. “Then again, you did call me a reckless, bloody, stupid Gryffindor.”

He laughed lightly, and Hermione forced a smile at his attempt at humour. She attempted to quell the roiling feeling inside of her. The last time she used this spell, Lucius plied her with chocolate and sex and made that unsettled feeling go away, but she had only herself to rely on now, and it was exhausting.

“Do you want to destroy the other one tonight, or should we go to bed? It’s terribly late,” she pointed out. 

He looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “No reason to wait. Might as well get it done.”

He pushed himself up from the ground and brushed off his clothes before helping her up. 

“Do you think some sort of silencing spell would work on it? So we don’t have to listen to it?” he asked as he picked up the sword.

She frowned. “I don’t know. I mean, when I wore the necklace or carried the cup around in my robe pocket, I could hear the horcrux whispering to me, in my head. It seems unlikely a silencing spell would do much.”

“You’re right. Probably best to just remind myself it’s not real and push through,” he said. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

Harry dropped Slytherin’s locket onto the ground and picked up the Sword of Gryffindor. Before she could say another word, he stabbed the locket fiercely, piercing the gold with the blade. That same awful sound emerged from the necklace, and she had to force herself to take deep, steady breaths as her mind recalled the horror of the cup’s destruction. The same black substance leaked from the desecrated jewelry, the same black mist swirled about as it had before.

This time she watched in horror as images of death and destruction emerged from the mist. She saw herself, Ron, Sirius, the Weasleys, their friends and housemates dying in agony as they whispered “It’s your fault. You did this to us. Why didn’t you save us Harry?” 

It was horrific to watch, and it had to end, now.

“Stab it again, Harry,” she said urgently. 

His eyes were squeezed shut, trying to block out the terrible images.

“Harry! Stab it again!” she said in a louder voice. 

He lifted the sword, dislodging the tip from the metal before striking it again. To her immense relief, the mist dissipated, the horcrux screamed, and then it was over. 

The locket and the cup both lay mangled on the ground.

Harry was panting from exertion as she flung her arms around him. 

“We did it,” he whispered into her tangled curls. 

“That was horrible,” she admitted, hugging him tightly. 

“I know. Can’t believe we’ve still got two more of these bloody things left.”

Harry had tossed the remains of the two horcruxes onto the fire before retiring to the tent. Something inside her twinged with guilt at the sight of two beautiful pieces of Hogwarts’ history, consigned to the flames, and she felt angry at Voldemort for desecrating items belonging to their school’s founders. 

It was still night, so they both climbed into their respective cots and attempted to sleep. The destruction of two of Voldemort’s horcruxes apparently eased Harry’s mind, for he slipped into a peaceful slumber with surprising ease. She, however, lay awake for a long time, guilt eating at her for using dark magic against her best friend. The first rays of morning sunlight were peeking through the dense forest when she finally drifted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last two chapters have been rather emotional and intense. I hope they’ve lived up to your expectations. I’d love to hear what you think about this latest turn of events. 
> 
> Coming next: Harry and Hermione move closer to the next horcrux, and Hermione is reunited with Lucius.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle


	30. Seventh Year, Part 11, 1998

###  Seventh Year, Part 11, 1998

 

Harry let her sleep until mid-day, and when she woke, he was sitting on his own cot, reading “Tales of Beedle the Bard,” a book of wizarding fairy tales their late headmaster had willed to her. She’d read and re-read the book, in between research on the founders of Hogwarts and possible methods to destroy a horcrux, but she had yet to figure out why Dumbledore left her such a strange book. Oh sure, it was interesting to read since she’d not grown up hearing these tales, but it was still strange. Someone - Dumbledore perhaps - had made some simple sketches and notes in the margins. This act of defiling a book bothered Hermione. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked, startling Harry.

He shrugged and tossed the book aside. “I mean, they’re vaguely interesting moral tales, I guess. Still don’t know why Professor Dumbledore left it to you.”

Maybe their late headmaster had gone round the bend, mentally speaking. He’d always been more than a little bit eccentric in the years she’d known him, and he was incredibly old when Professor Snape killed him that night on the astronomy tower. Was it possible he’d been a bit senile? 

“I just feel like we’re missing something here,” Harry said, frowning at the book.

“I know.” She’d had that same thought for some time, but the constant moves and the hunt for horcruxes had kept them busy.

“Why give you this book? Or me this snitch?” he said, pulling the snitch from his pocket and rolling it around in his hand. 

“I wish I knew,” she admitted. 

Harry was energised by the destruction of the cup and the locket and by their possession of the Sword of Gryffindor, and was eager to get to Hogwarts to seek out an artefact of Rowena Ravenclaw’s. Hermione, still wracked with guilt over what she’d done to her best friend - for his own good - listened silently as he paced around the tent, playing with the snitch again as he laid out different strategies for sneaking into the school. 

“So, I think those are our best options. What do you think, ‘Mione?” he asked.

“I think it’s inherently risky no matter what we do,” she admitted, “And there are just so many unknowns.”

One of the biggest of the unknowns was whether or not students were still able to make a regularly day trip into Hogsmeade. If so, they could use polyjuice or glamours and blend in with the students and simply walk back through the front gates at Hogwarts.

If that was out, another option was to try to enter the school through one of the blocked tunnels and hope that they could remove whatever magical and physical barriers Snape had erected. That of course had its own potential pitfalls. 

They were also unsure whether any wards or alarms had been erected around the school that would notify Snape if they attempted to return to Hogwarts. It wouldn’t do for them to get captured by Voldemort’s forces now, when they were so close to finding and destroying the last of his horcruxes.

“And then once that’s done,” Harry said, “We just have the snake.”

“Any great plans for how we can tackle that?”

“Yeah. I think It doesn’t matter where Nagini is.”

“How so?” she frowned.

“We get into Hogwarts and we destroy the next horcrux, and then once we’re done, we bring him to us. Wherever Voldy goes, so goes the snake, right?”

She yawned and then pondered his words.

“How do you intend to do that?”

“I dunno. There’s plenty of options. Make our presence known to a Death Eater or send an owl to a known Death Eater. Hell, we could have someone in the Order owl the ‘Daily Prophet’ for all I care.”

“What are you suggesting? That we set up a trap? Or an ambush?”

“I was trying to think this morning, ‘What would Ron do?’” he said. “He is the chess master of the three of us, you know.” 

He offered her a crooked smile then, but she knew that Ron’s departure still hurt. 

“What did you decide?”

“Well, I thought that Ron would suggest that we amass our strength - so the Order and their allies - and we bring Voldemort to us, on our terms.”

That was… logical and reasonable, she thought, although she was unprepared for the idea of a mass battle, which seemed to be what Harry was implying. A battle meant chaos and deaths and horror and no guarantee that the people she loved would live to see the other side. Lucius was helping discreetly by feeding the Order enough information to take out some of Voldemort’s inner circle, and by helping them locate horcruxes, but what would he do in battle? Would he strike down his own brothers-in-arms? Would he be distracted by a need to try to protect Draco? She did not think her heart could take it if Lucius was killed in battle.

She began to wonder if maybe it was time to notify the Order about Lucius’s true allegiance. Sirius already knew she was with a Death Eater, and Harry still believed she was with Draco, thanks to her quick spellwork. She didn’t relish the idea of having to paint Draco as a spy and a hero, but perhaps she could convince their allies that Lucius was funneling information to Draco, and they were both helping her. Harry’s reaction the night before proved that she could not just outright tell them she was Lucius Malfoy’s mistress.

“I mean, I’d rather not have to fight in the midst of Diagon Alley where a bunch of innocent bystanders could get killed, or someplace like, I don’t know, Malfoy Manor where the Death Eaters know the place better than we do. We’d be too easy to corner,” he continued, drawing her from her thoughts.

“Yes, that’s true."

“But I think Ron would say that fighting on an open field would be equally bad because we would just be open targets,” Harry mused. 

“I think if you’re planning a final confrontation, the Order needs to be involved,” she pointed out. “It’s not fair for us to make any decisions when we haven’t talked to them in months and don’t know where they are or how long it will take them to re-group.”

“Yeah, I thought about that. We could get the horcrux, get out of the school, and then meet up with Sirius and the others to strategise. I mean, logically, that seems like the best option.”

“But?”

“I just… I feel bad thinking that while we’re holed up in an Order safehouse somewhere, planning, muggleborns are being shipped off to who knows where and people are dying,” he admitted.

It was typical Harry, his need to be the hero, to save as many people as he possibly could, and she loved him for that, even as she recognised that Lucius would sneer at her friend’s sensibilities. Victory needed to matter most. Ultimately defeating the Dark Lord would save more people in the long wrong, and she told him so. He acknowledged the accuracy of her words, but she could tell he did not like it. 

They packed up their campsite in relative silence, Harry managing their kitchen supplies while she tackled the stacks of books they’d hauled all over England. Did she really need to keep carting some of these around? Rita Skeeter’s gossip-y book, “The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore” had been in her bag since before they left Grimmauld Place, and as far as Hermione was concerned, it was better used as kindling for a fire. Harry had been melancholy since he got his hands on the book, as his mentor was ripped to shreds by the reporter they all loathed. Hermione, who was already disillusioned with their late headmaster, had to admit that it was a pretty damning account. Perhaps if they’d had this book years earlier, Harry would have come to view their headmaster the same way she did: with trepidation and a healthy level of mistrust. 

She sighed as she packed up Skeeter’s book, along with “Tales of Beedle the Bard.” It was time to move on.

 

~oOo~

 

They apparated near the Shrieking Shack, just outside Hogsmeade. Harry wanted to rush headlong into the place to set up a base camp there, but she made him wait patiently under a disillusionment charm whilst she carefully checked for any wards around the dilapidated building or any sign of Death Eaters. If she’d been a Death Eater, she would have used the shack. It was close enough to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade to spy on both, and it provided shelter from the elements. She was surprised it was empty, but perhaps Death Eaters checked up on it regularly. They’d need to be careful. 

The shack was truly deserted, and the only magic she could detect was around where the tunnel to the whomping willow had been. As indicated on Harry’s map, that tunnel was well and truly sealed off. They set up camp inside the old house, with backup plans to move elsewhere should they fall under attack. Harry placed the tent in the midst of the very room where she had met Lucius Malfoy at the end of her fifth year. She could not help but feel nostalgic as she brushed her fingertips along the peeling wallpaper where he’d pushed her up against the wall. It felt like yesterday and yet like a lifetime ago. How innocent she’d been then! How little she’d known about him, about magic, about love. She’d thought that day that she loved him, but the feelings of that long ago warm afternoon were miniscule compared to the depth of her love for him now. 

That night, after Harry went to sleep, she sat up inside the frigid shack, relatively comfortable wrapped in a blanket and cocooned in a warming charm. In the quiet and darkness, she reached out to her lover.

_ Found a way to destroy h. Necklace, cup destroyed. _

He messaged her back soon after.

_ How??? _

_ Found Sword of Gryffindor. Imbued with basilisk venom. _

_ How did you find that?? _

_ Long story. Will tell you sometime. Encamped near Hogsmeade. Need to get into school. Any ideas? _

He messaged her back soon after.

_ Per Severus, all known tunnels blocked into school for security. _

She frowned. That wasn’t exactly new knowledge, thanks to the map.

_ Hogsmeade weekends?  _

Harry’s idea of using polyjuice to simply walk through the front gates was rather daring and could go wrong in any number of ways, but it was really only workable if the students were permitted to leave the school grounds.

_ Death Eater guard in Hogsmeade. Very limited student visits. _

She sighed. She’d feared that exact thing.

Her bracelet warmed again.

_ Low level D.E. though. Too many inner circle lost to battle to waste guarding town/school.  _

Well, that did indeed change the situation up a bit. 

_ How many? _ She asked.

_ Unsure _ , he wrote back. 

_ Any news? _

It took much longer for a response this time.

_ Can you activate portkey? _

Butterflies sprung up in her stomach. 

_ Give me a few minutes. _

She thought briefly about sneaking away, but she couldn’t do that. Harry would panic if he woke alone, and she felt badly enough about what she’d done to him during the destruction of the horcruxes. He’d gone to bed well before sunset, so she didn’t feel terribly guilty about waking him.

“Harry. Harry, wake up!” she whispered.

“S’it my turn to take watch?” he mumbled.

“I need to go.”

“Huh?”

“My bracelet, L-um, Draco needs to see me. I think he has news.” 

Harry sat up abruptly in bed.

“Oh. Then you should go. What time is it?”

“Almost midnight.”

“It was almost time for me to get up anyway then.”

He frowned for a moment before speaking again. “Do you think I could meet with Malfoy too?”

Her heart dropped into her stomach. Fuck. How was she supposed to accommodate that kind of a request?

“Why?” she asked, hoping she did not sound nervous.

“Well, I mean, I just thought...look, he was a right git to us in school, and I just wanted to thank him for what he’s doing and try to find out more about what the Death Eaters are doing. Plus, I thought maybe…”

“Yes?” she prompted.

“Well, I mean, I haven’t been able to get a message to Sirius because we didn’t want to risk a patronus. I was thinking maybe he’d have access to an owl we could use.”

An owl wasn’t exactly the most secure of messengers these days, as they could be shot out of the sky and their messages intercepted, but it was better than nothing. Not to mention that she’d been considering using the Owlery at Hogwarts to notify the Order to schedule a meet up. 

“I can ask. I don’t know if he normally keeps an owl at the property in Scotland,” she admitted. “But Harry, um, I don’t want to be rude but…”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t seen him in ages, and we usually don’t talk about the war until…” her face burned bright with embarrassment. “After.”

“After?” he repeated in confusion.

“You know. After.”

He finally got it then, and his face flushed crimson for a moment. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry, I um, wasn’t thinking about that. Ugh, ‘Mione, I really didn’t want that mental picture.”

“Go ahead and write out a message for Sirius, and if there’s an owl there, I’ll send it off for you. I asked if he had news, and he asked me to come to him.”

They debated together what to say in a letter to the Order, finally settling on letting them know that they had to get into Hogwarts and would send a message to them after they’d accomplished their mission at the school, to meet up and plan for what they hoped would be a final battle. Hermione was impatient the entire time Harry scrawled out the note, eager to get to Lucius. 

Finally, with the letter tucked safely in her robe pocket, she stepped outside of the wards they’d erected around the shack and activated the portkey.

 

~oOo~

 

Lucius Malfoy was a vision in grey silk pajama bottoms, standing there with his arms crossed over his bare chest. 

“You… you’re…” she was speechless at the sight of him. She’d expected Death Eater robes, and she was more than a little bit self-conscious about her repeatedly  _ scourgified  _ clothes and tangled hair.

“Hello pet.”

He held open his arms to her, and she ran to him, clutching him fiercely. 

“You have no idea… it’s been awful. I did a terrible, terrible thing, Lucius,” she whispered into his neck, tears pricking at her eyes.

“Tell me. Tell me everything.” 

His voice was like a drug, an anesthetic that slid down her spine, numbing the pain and the guilt she’d felt.

In a halting voice, she clung to him as she told him about the mysterious patronus, the sword, the destruction of the horcruxes, and what Harry had seen.

He tilted her chin up, so she was forced to look at him.

“You saw me? In that…  _ thing _ ?”

“I never wanted Harry to find out that way,” she whispered. “It was horrible.”

He cupped her face, his hands warm on her cheeks. “Oh, pet. I promise you, the Dark Lord knows nothing of our involvement. I would  _ never  _ do that.”

She looked into his eyes, searching for truth, for devotion. After a long moment, she nodded, contentment warming her, body and soul. He cared for her, he did. The horcrux was nothing but fear and lies.

“And the other Death Eaters? Narcissa? Do they know?” she asked. She believed him, and she knew that she had no reason to doubt him, but she still felt raw and insecure from the previous night’s activities.

He sighed.

“Narcissa is aware that I am seeing someone,” he said finally. “She does not know who, nor does she particularly care, if it keeps me out of her bed. I’m sure she assumes I am involved with a pureblood witch from somewhere.”

He said it with such a resigned air that she felt bad for thinking that the vision from the horcrux could possibly be true.

“You know that my son is marked. He is aware that you are very important to me,” he continued. “He has been sworn to secrecy, on his magic.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Swearing on your magic was a very big deal.

“But Draco, he -”

“Now, tell me what Potter said, and what you did,” he interrupted.

Hermione wiped at her eyes and told Lucius how Harry had tried to cast her aside, how she’d been forced to use dark magic against her dearest friend in order to protect them all.

“You were very brave,” he said finally.

“I’m a horrible person,” she whispered, her shoulders slumping.

“No, you are not. You did what you had to do. You said it yourself - he would have jeopardised everything by sending you away. Finding and destroying the final horcruxes is what truly matters right now. The rest of it, it can wait.”

“Harry thinks I’m involved with Draco. He thinks Draco is my source,” she admitted. “He has for months.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow at her. 

“He made assumptions, based on what he saw at Hogwarts - me being in a duel with Draco and then taking a curse for him, Draco locking me in a closet the night Dumbledore died.”

Lucius ran his fingers through his long hair then and appeared to consider the matter. “I suppose that makes sense. And this was acceptable to Potter? You being involved with my son?”

“He didn’t like it, but it was more plausible and less terrifying to him than me being involved with you.”

His lips turned up then in a smile. “Yes, well, I can see how he would not want his friend involved with a big, bad Death Eater.”

“Don’t mock me, Lucius.”

“I would not dream of it. Let us not worry about what Harry Potter believes at this time. We can address that later, after this is all over. We have more important things to discuss. And do.”

She sincerely hoped that by ‘thing to do’ he meant things of an intimate nature. She smiled brightly at him, acknowledging his words and then wrapping her arms around him. He responded in kind, and then after a long moment, she was not sure how long, he patted her back awkwardly.

“Hermione, I am of course most delighted to see you, and I have missed you as well. However forgive my lack of manners when I say that you smell. And not in a good way.”

“Oh my god.” She stepped out of his embrace, her face burning with mortification. 

“I… well, we’ve been on the run…” she started to explain.

“Shower. Get cleaned up, and I’ll have Mipsy bring up a tray of food.”

Her stomach rumbled in agreement with this plan, and they ventured upstairs.    
  


  
~oOo~   
  


  
The shower was heavenly, and the food even better. She ate in front of the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket as Mipsy cleaned her filthy clothes.

“I guess I expected to see you looking more battle-weary,” she admitted in between bites of roast chicken.

“I’ve been traveling.”

“Where?”

“The continent. The Dark Lord is trying to drum up international support - or at least prevent international interference in his takeover of the wizarding Britain.”

She stared at him in horror. “Is He successful?”

Lucius shrugged. “Our world is rather insular, as you’ve noticed, and traditionally we do not interfere in another country’s business. There is not a great deal of interest in wizarding France or Germany to invade Britain. As long as the Dark Lord keeps his ambitions confined to our island, they prefer to stay out of it.”

“Is that...I don’t know enough about international wizarding politics to know if that’s good or bad for Harry,” she admitted.

“Should Mr. Potter falter, you cannot expect International Confederation of Wizards to intervene. They will act only if the Dark Lord attempts to spread his rule beyond Britain.”

“Oh.” She felt deflated at this news. “Was this the news you had for me?”

“No, there is more. The Dark Lord has gathered support from the acromantulas that reside in the Forbidden Forest, and He has also brought Fenrir Greyback’s werewolf pack under His control. You need to let the Order know to be prepared for creature attacks. I have gathered some numbers for them.”

She stared at him in horror. This was  _ terrible _ news. 

“I don’t have any way of contacting the Order. A patronus is too easily overheard, we don’t have an owl, and the last time we ventured somewhere to try to meet up with someone, Harry was nearly killed by the Dark Lord’s giant snake!” she pushed out in breathless frustration.

“I DO have an owl, and you are welcome to use it. You should send a message to them tonight.”

“We’ve been worried about the possibility of owls being intercepted,” she admitted.

“You are wise to be wary, but it’s actually very difficult to shoot an owl from the sky. They are magical creatures, you know. Besides,” he said with a smirk, “The Dark Lord’s army has better things to do than try to shoot random owls from the sky on the off chance someone from the Order is sending a message. Come then. Let’s send your letter.”

She looked at the blanket wrapped around her. “Now?”

“No time like the present. Besides, Archimedes is here.”

“You keep an owl here?” she asked in surprise. 

He shrugged. “Once this became our primary meeting place, it just made sense. He’s not here all the time.”

She stood when Lucius did and followed him down a long hallway, up a flight of stairs, and through darkened corridors. The lodge was admittedly rather foreboding at night. He led her to a small room that had only a simple desk and a narrow flight of stairs.

“You will need to draft the message yourself, so they’ll recognise your writing and your words,” he said, motioning her to the desk. 

She sat down and reached for a quill and parchment. Lucius stood over her shoulder and recited all of the news and facts he could recall that he felt were of importance for the Order to know. She added a few personal notes - little insignificant statements to confirm that the message was indeed coming from her - and folded the parchment around Harry’s note.

“What is that?” he asked.

“A letter, from Harry.”

To his credit, Lucius did not ask to read it or even inquire about the contents therein. She sealed the envelope, casting a magical charm on it to open only for the addressee or his designee and then followed Lucius up the stairs to the owlery.

Archimedes was an eagle owl, mostly brown and grey. He was… surprisingly common in appearance as far as owls went. She wasn’t sure why, but she’d somehow pictured Lucius owning an enormous, grand owl that stood out from all the others. The nondescript appearance of the bird made her feel better about his ability to slip undetected through the night sky. The bird hooted at them and flew to a perch near Lucius, who reached out and passed him a treat.

“Alright pet, give it to him. He’s very smart and good at staying out of sight.”

Once the parchment was carefully attached to the owl, Lucius stroked his feathers gently. “Go on then, to Sirius Black,” he said softly. 

Hermione wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself, shivering the cold night air as she watched the bird take flight. She could only pray that the news reached the Order in a timely manner.

 

~oOo~

 

She expected to return to the bedroom they always visited when she was here, but instead he took her on a detour. They ended up in a space that made her gasp in awe. There on the fourth floor, a secluded corner opened onto a balcony overlooking the library. The drapes to the room were open, casting moonlight over rows upon rows of books. 

“Beautiful,” she whispered. She approached the balcony railing and rested her hands on the elegantly carved wood. She leaned over enough to take in the view below.

“It is, isn’t it? And yet it’s rather quaint compared to the library at Malfoy Manor. Regrettably, it is not safe for me to take you there,” he admitted. “Someday though…”

He came up behind her and place a hand on the railing on either side of her, caging her in.

“Someday,” she repeated.

“I’ll show you all of it, after all of this is over,” he said faintly.

“I’d like that. But I like it here too. It feels like we’re in our own little world here,” she admitted.

He moved closer to her, and she felt his breath in her hair. “This is indeed our own little world, pet, and so filled with wonderful memories. Look down there. That chair by the fireplace is where I added the sapphire to your bracelet.”

She smiled at the sight of the wingback chair, and her heart warmed at the idea that Lucius Malfoy remembered that day more than a year ago, remembered exactly where they’d sat as they exchanged presents for Christmas.

“And that table? Do you see that?” he asked, nuzzling her hair and nipping gently at her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Yes.” Her voice felt shaky to her.

“That table is where I laid you out, stripped bare for my pleasure, where I spread your legs and licked your sweet cunt until you begged me to stop.”

_ Oh god. Oh fuck.  _ Her heart pounded and a flash of heat shot through her at his indecent words and the very decadent memory they conjured. It had been the first time he’d used his mouth on her, that his sinful tongue had made her writhe and gasp, and moan, and eventually beg. 

A soft whimper involuntarily slipped past her lips. Lucius pressed her body against hers, grinding his hips into the curve of her arse. 

“I loved seeing you spread out like that, just for me. Only for me,” he murmured.

“Yesss…” she sighed, tipping her head back so he could press a hot kiss into the sensitive skin of her neck.

“You have no idea what it does to me to know that no wizard, no man, had ever tasted your sweet cunt before, pet.” 

Her face flushed at his crude language, even as his possessiveness thrilled her. 

“Just you, Lucius. Just you.”

“Always. Just me, Hermione.”

His hand suddenly fisted in her hair, jerking her head back harder. She could see him then, his grey eyes gazing intently at her. 

“Say it,” he hissed.

She blinked at him in confusion.

“You are mine. I want to hear you say it.”

“Yours,” she whispered. “I’m yours, Lucius.”

“Good girl.”

He descended on her then, kissing her with a ferocity and an intensity that thrilled her, his tongue dominating her mouth. She felt breathless when he finally broke away and turned her head back to face the library below. 

“And the sofa. You remember the sofa, don’t you pet?” he prompted, his voice like liquid silk again. 

“I do.”

“I bent you over the arm of that sofa, your pert little arse bared to me, and I fucked you so hard.”

She groaned then, arching her back, pressing her body into his at the memory. He’d laid a book on the sofa cushion, a text on strategic magical attacks and defensive manoeuvres. Then he’d bent her over the arm of the sofa so she could easily see the pages, and he’d bid her to read aloud whilst her fucked her. She could still feel the palm of his hand, warm and heavy as he’d pinned her down before grabbing her hair and her hip, could still remember the way his hand slapped harshly at her arse every time she faltered in her reading. She could still recalled the pious tone of voice he’d taken with her as he’d insisted such methods would ensure the properly retained this important material. He’d been correct. 

The memory had her rubbing her thighs together, desperate for something, anything he might bestow upon her. 

“Lucius,” she breathed, “Please…”

He tugged at the blanket, dropping it to the floor, leaving her shivering and naked on the balcony.

“Yes, pet?”

“Please…”

“What do you need?”

“You. I want you.”

“Do not remove your hands from the railing.”

She nodded and gripped the polished wood. 

“Good girl.” 

She could not hold back the moan when a hand grasped her breast roughly, twisting her nipple, or when she felt the head of his cock slip between her legs. She cried out when he pushed into her. 

Yes this, she thought, this was what she’d missed for so long. This was where she belonged, here, with Lucius. Harry was so dear to her, and she loved him, loved him like a brother, but Lucius was her world. He was in her, around her. His hands were warm on her body, and his voice was hypnotising, as he whispered filthy words to her, words of praise and promise. 

He took her hard and fast, making her shriek and moan and then beg for release. Her cries of ‘Lucius, please… please, I need to come,’ egging him on. She tried to lift a hand from the railing, to pull him closer, to tangle in his hair, to hold her to him, but he slapped her arse as he had that night on the sofa downstairs. Each strike of his palm on her skin reverberated through her, making her jerk in his hold. 

He brought her over the edge not once but twice, and by the time he emptied inside her, she was hanging onto the railing, her chest and head dangling over it, red-faced and gasping. Her legs felt like muggle jello when he finally pulled away from her. He caught her before she slid onto the balcony floor. 

He was tired and breathing hard as well, but he wrapped her in the blanket and carried her back to the bedroom she’d come to know as theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I'd planned, but I also wanted to have Hermione reunite with Lucius. I am trying very hard from here out to stick to my more or less weekly posting, but I'm out of chapters that are mostly pre-written, and I'm about to start graduate school on top of work, parenting, etc., so I may no guarantees. Thank you so much for your continued feedback, questions, comments, etc. I so love hearing what you all think! 
> 
> -Elle


	31. Seventh Year, Part 12, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I owe a debt of gratitude to author Margot_Le_Faye for her assistance with the plot and outline of action for this chapter and the rest of this story.

###  Seventh Year, Part 12, 1998

 

Hermione felt absurdly good when she awoke alone in a bed piled high with blankets and tartan plaids. Her body was clean, fed, and deliciously sore from Lucius’s attentions. The curtains around the bed were drawn, and she pulled them back carefully, shivering as the cool air touched her bare skin.

A fire was blazing in the fireplace and a few candles were lit around the room.

“Lucius?” she asked in a soft voice. 

She was alone in the bedroom. She parted the drapes along one tall window just enough to see that it was still dark outside. A tempus cast from her wand showed it was just after 6 am.

She shivered and wrapped a plaid around her as she wondered where he could have gone. A small stack of books rested on the table by the fire where he’d sat patiently by her side the night before as she ate.

She sat down on the sofa and thumbed through them. They all appeared to be books about Hogwarts and its founders. The books had not been there last night, and she smiled to herself at the thought that Lucius had gathered them for her. 

She was several chapters into an admittedly rather dull book about the life of Rowena Ravenclaw when Lucius returned, fully dressed in grey and black robes.

“Good morning, pet. How long have you been awake?”

“Not long. Where were you?”

“Searching for a book. I believe I may have found something.”

He withdrew another book from his robes and sat down beside her. 

“What is it?” she asked eagerly. 

He thumbed carefully through what looked to be an ancient text.

“I knew I had seen an image somewhere of Rowena Ravenclaw, but I could not recall where,” he said. “For a witch of such esteem, surprisingly few paintings or statues of her remain. I have searched for this book for months and an owl arrived with it this morning.”

He at last came to a page showing an early medieval portrait of a dark-haired woman. The picture did not move, which struck her as odd, given that it was obviously a book of magical origin. Rowena Ravenclaw was dressed in robes of dark blue and wore a crown of sapphires and a necklace with a large bronze eagle on it. 

“That’s her.”

Hermione studied the image for a long moment, wondering what Lucius’s point was. Then it hit her.

“The eagle necklace? You think that’s it?”

“Either that, or the diadem,” he said, motioning to the crown on her head.

“She was royalty,” Hermione observed.

“Indeed. All of the founders were.”

“Really?”

Lucius looked annoyed. “It disturbs me tremendously to see a witch of your calibre not know this.”

“I’ve read ‘Hogwarts: A History’ forwards and backwards!” she said indignantly. 

“It’s not in the recent editions. The push to eliminate the peerage and create a more ‘egalitarian’ magical Britain began before Grindelwald’s rise to power,” he explained. “All of the founders held titles. Rowena Ravenclaw was a princess. Hence the diadem.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. How had she not known such a crucial bit of magical history? Why was this withheld?

He smirked at her response. “You had to have suspected,” he said, motioning toward the image of the Ravenclaw house founder.

“Well, I mean, I assumed they were of some _ means _ in order to start a school and build a castle like they did,” she said.

“You’ve destroyed a golden chalice, and a gold and emerald locket. You said yourself that Potter has the sword, and it is reportedly goblin-made and bejeweled. Those are not inexpensive items, even today.”

He snorted at the look of surprise on her face. “Come now, pet. You yourself called me Lord Malfoy. You knew enough about wizarding history to know that it was the proper way to address someone of my station.”

“I… I can’t believe you remember that.”

“A child born of muggles called me by a title now seldom-used in our world. Believe me when I say it was memorable.”

She stared at him for a moment before, amazed that he recalled such a little detail from years ago. “Well, yes, I did call you that. I wanted...I was trying to fit in. It seemed appropriate. But I...I don’t know why it never occurred to me that the founders also held titles. Now that I think about it though, it makes sense. They would have had to be individuals of importance to get all of magical Britain to send their children to school there.”

“Yes, you would be correct.”

“Why did that change? Why is that no longer taught?” she demanded.

“That, I believe, is a debate for another day,” he said, handing her the fragile book. “You may take this book with you when you leave. There may be more of interest in it to you, although if you can return it intact after the war is all over, I would like to hold onto it.”

She cradled the precious tome carefully. “I’ll take very good care of it!” 

“Indeed. When you and Mr. Potter get into Hogwarts, I believe you will need to search for either that necklace or that diadem.”

She looked at the image of Rowena Ravenclaw again and considered his words.

“Tom Riddle’s family, his magical family. They were descended from Salazar Slytherin.”

“Yes.”

“Did they still hold a title?”

“I believe that much of the family’s fortune and titled estates were sold over the generations. It’s rather unfortunate, the choices the Dark Lord has made,” he mused.

“How so?”

“As I’ve said before, He was brilliant, powerful beyond belief. Before He lost his body, he was charismatic. Many witches thought Him handsome. He could have done so much, been a credit to the Gaunt name, a worthy heir of Salazar Slytherin. This inexplicable focus on immortality has cost him a great deal, it would seem.”

Hermione frowned. She’d not really thought about it that way, but she supposed he had a point. 

“Would the Dark Lord have known? About the founders’ titles, about the titles held by some of the magical families?” she prompted.

“Given that He collected items belonging to the founders, it seems likely, does it not? He almost certainly knew.”

“Then the diadem. It has to be the diadem!” she insisted.

“You think so?”

“It’s an actual, literal CROWN, Lucius! He seems Himself as a god, a king. Why not use Rowena Ravenclaw’s crown to store a piece of his soul? It’s… it’s rather poetic in a sick and twisted way when you think about it.”

He stared at her for a moment before his lips twisted into a smile. “You are brilliant.”  
  


~oOo~

 

Lucius sent her back to Harry and to the Shrieking Shack soon after in clean clothes and with another large bag from Mipsy containing the precious book, another load of much-needed food and supplies, and a promise.

“Soon.”

It would be over soon.

There were so many things she wished to discuss with him before she left. What exactly had he told Draco about their involvement? What did Draco think? How far was Draco willing to go to protect her or to help Harry? What could she safely tell the Order about how Lucius had helped her? Were there others among Voldemort’s brethren Lucius thought would be willing to defect when the final battle came? 

She wanted to ask Lucius what future he envisioned for them, should Harry win. She wanted to ask him about his hopes and dreams in a world free from Voldemort. She hated that their time together was so painfully brief.

But soon. They would be together again soon.

She and Lucius had notified the Order. She and Harry would break into the castle, find and destroy Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem. They would re-group with the Order, and surely reunite with Ron.

And then Harry would face Voldemort. 

They would take out the snake.

It would be over.

And she could be with Lucius. Some way, somehow, she would be with Lucius.

 

~oOo~

  
  


Harry was happy to see her and thrilled with the bounty from ‘Draco.’ They huddled together in the shack, eating sandwiches from Mipsy as she told him everything she’d learned and the contents of the message they’d sent to Sirius. Harry seemed happy that they’d been able to get a message out to the Order. Naturally though, he was most excited about the book Lucius had given her and the conclusions they’d reached.

“A crown. That’s...wait. Did you know the founders were part of some magical royalty?” Harry asked around a mouthful of roast beef.

“Well, I knew that some of the upper echelons of pureblood society should properly be called Lord and Lady, although those titles are rarely used by anyone anymore.”

“Huh. It makes sense, though, doesn’t it? I mean, for Riddle to use a crown worn by a magical princess, when he’d been cast out of the wizarding world, abandoned to a muggle orphanage,” Harry mused. “Kind of a giant ‘fuck you’ to the wizarding world, right?”

Hermione nodded, remembering how Lucius had described the possibility of Voldemort making a horcrux from Gryffindor’s sword as ‘pissing on the grave of your enemies.’

“I don’t know what we’d do without Malfoy,” Harry admitted with a laugh. “Fuck, it feels wrong to say that. Malfoy. Huh.”

They decided to pack up the camp and load everything into Hermione’s beaded bag before scoping out Hogsmeade. If anything went wrong, they wanted to know they could safely flee with all of their supplies. She liked the idea of waiting to get into Hogsmeade under cover of darkness, but Harry was eager to act, and it was hard to argue with someone who was in possession of an invisibility cloak. 

Lucius had confirmed there was a low level Death Eater guard in the town, so Hermione assumed wards of some kind had been set up, and she did not want to accidentally apparate into a situation they could not easily escape. The opted to try to sneak into Hogsmeade on foot.

It turned out to be for the best that they packed up everything that day. They made it a mere few meters into the town before accidentally tripping an alarm somewhere around the town’s perimeter. 

The noise was loud and startling enough that she nearly tripped herself, falling into Harry, both of them mercifully hidden under his invisibility cloak. 

“What the hell?” she murmured as she righted herself.

“Caterwauling charm,” he hissed, pulling her close. They moved quickly around a corner and down one of the narrow cobbled streets. 

The alarm was still wailing, and people were peering cautiously out of windows. She heard shouting in the distance, part of the Death Eater guard no doubt, searching for whomever or whatever had tripped the alarm. Harry sent off a patronus, hoping to distract the Death Eaters and lead them astray.

Through the gauzy fabric of the invisibility cloak, she saw a Death Eater approach, wand drawn. No matter how many times she’d seen Lucius in his mask and robe, the sight of a Death Eater in action was still terrifying.

She and Harry froze beneath the cloak.

“Anything?” she heard another Death Eater ask as he approached the first.

“I heard something this way,” the first wizard said, gesturing in their general direction.

“How anyone can hear anything over that bleedin’ caterwauling is beyond me.”

“ _ Homenum revelio! _ ” the first wizard said, casting the revealing charm into the corner of the alley where she and Harry stood huddled together. She held her breath and palmed her own wand, prepared to fight if need be. 

A part of Hermione expected them to suddenly become visible. It wasn’t exactly easy to hide from a revealing charm. It would have certainly canceled out a disillusionment charm. To her surprise, the cloak remained firmly in place, keeping them hidden.

“Aye, mate. We’re wastin’ time. If there was anyone here before, they’re not here now,” the second wizard said. “Come on, let’s not be wastin’ time.”

Hermione exhaled in relief as the two Death Eaters headed back the other direction. 

“We need to get out of the open,” Harry whispered beside her. 

Through a process of trial and error, looking for open facilities or unlocked doors, they ended up inside a rather seedy looking establishment called The Hogshead, and face to face with a wizard who bore a startling resemblance to Albus Dumbledore. 

It became clear rather quickly that there was no love lost between Aberforth Dumbledore and his late brother, and Hermione was left wondering just how much truth there was in Rita Skeeter’s book. 

Aberforth advised them to wait out the Death Eaters, and then slip out of town under cover of darkness. He seemed shocked at Harry’s insistence that they  _ had _ to get into Hogwarts, and then resigned, looking as if he thought Harry and Hermione were both clueless children with a death wish.

_ Perhaps we are, _ she thought wryly to herself as Aberforth shook his head at them. Their late headmaster had sent them on an unclear path, without any real guidance and armed only with their wits and a few random items he’d left for them.

Aberforth reluctantly led them to a painting of a teenage witch with familiar twinkling blue eyes and light brown hair.

“Ariana?” Harry breathed as he gazed at the portrait. The witch nodded slightly at him. 

“We need to get into Hogwarts. Can you help us?” he asked. The portrait paused, as if thinking, and then swung open, revealing a narrow set of stone stairs that descended into a dark tunnel.

Harry looked at her for a moment as he stashed the invisibility cloak in his robes and withdrew his wand to cast  _ lumos _ .

“That’s the only way in or out these days. The school’s never been so heavily guarded, at least not in recent memory. I’m not sure what you think you’re going to do once you get in there,” Aberforth said. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Harry said. 

“A lot of bad things happen to people who follow my brother and his grand plans. You sure you know what you’re doing?” Aberforth prompted.

Harry stiffened beside her. “Yes. I have to do this.”

She thought perhaps Aberforth would try to talk them out of going, but instead he waved them on with a cryptic message. “Off you go then. You won’t be the first to use this tunnel to go back and forth.” 

“I guess this is it. Shall we?” Harry said to her, motioning toward the stairs.

Hermione’s heart thrummed in her chest. They were really doing it. They were going to sneak back into Hogwarts. 

  
  


~oOo~

  
  


Hermione followed Harry down the narrow stone stairs and into the dark tunnel, casting a  _ lumos _ of her own as the painting closed behind them, cutting off any light from Aberforth’s pub.

“I can’t believe there’s another tunnel into Hogwarts that we didn’t know anything about,” Harry said with a bit of awe. 

Everything had been so serious and stressful for so long, that she could not help but offer Harry a small bit of humour. 

“Imagine how annoyed Sirius is going to be when you tell him,” she shot back. She could absolutely picture Harry’s godfather, mouth open in surprise, at the news that there was a tunnel from Hogwarts into a pub that he and the rest of the Marauders had missed.

Harry could apparently picture it as well before he snickered with laughter.

“You’re right. It will drive him and Moony crazy,” he agreed. “After the war. After the war, I’m going to bring them back here and show them this tunnel, and they’ll be devastated at the thought of all the years of drinking they missed by not knowing there was a direct line into a pub.”

It was a pleasant thought, and she held onto it as the tunnel leveled out underground. She wasn’t sure how far below ground they were and whether anyone above could potentially hear them, so she and Harry kept their conversation at a whisper level as they made their way slowly through the dark.

“Where do you think this opens up?” he asked.

“I assume somewhere in the dungeons.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re below ground,” she whispered dryly. The dungeons seemed like an obvious answer.

“Well, yeah, but it’s magic. I mean, surely magic built this tunnel into a magical, practically sentient castle. It could open up anywhere.”

She blinked in the darkness at the thought. It bothered her that her mind automatically went for the muggle answer, but Harry was right. 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t open into the headmaster’s office,” she whispered with a shiver. Aberforth was Albus Dumbledore’s brother after all. It would make sense.

“We should put on the cloak before we open any doors.”

They walked in silence for a bit longer until Harry brought up the missing horcrux.

“Where should we look for the crown?” he asked.

“It’s called a diadem.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why is it called a diadem and not a crown?”

“Because...diadem is just another word for tiara. Men - wizards - don’t wear tiaras or diadems, but they could wear a crown.”

“Huh. So why not just call it a tiara?”

“Honestly Harry! I don’t know.”

“Sounds like Rowena Ravenclaw was pretty full of herself then if she needed a poncy word like ‘diadem’ to describe her crown,” he teased.

“Now you just sound like Ron.”

The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop herself.

Harry was silent beside her, and Hermione immediately regretted bringing up their friend.

Finally after a long pause, Harry spoke.

“If Ron were here, he would _ absolutely _ agree with me that ‘diadem’ is an exceptionally poncy word,” he whispered in an eerily accurate impression of Percy Weasley.

She couldn’t hold back a muffled giggle. She stopped walking for a moment and pressed her hand over her lips to stifle her laughter. 

Harry was right. Ron  _ would _ most certainly agree. For a moment, she was flooded with mental pictures of their missing friend and what he would have had to say about a hunt for a magical tiara/crown/diadem. The locket and the cup had been destroyed, and despite the guilt weighing her down over her lies to Harry and the way she’d modified his memory of their fight over Lucius, she felt so much happier, so much lighter not having Voldemort’s voice hissing in her mind every time she carried or wore one of the horcruxes. 

Harry stopped when she did and turned to look at her. He took one look at her and had to stifle laughter of his own, since they were trying to be quiet. 

“This whole thing is absurd, you know that, right? We’re in a secret underground tunnel about to go search for a mangled up piece of torn soul that was stashed in a priceless crown, and the idea that someone came up with a pretentious word for ‘crown’ is just really funny right now,” she said.

“You just referred to a horcrux as a ‘mangled up piece of torn soul,’ Harry snickered. 

“Well, what else would you call it?” she challenged.

“I dunno. It’s just funny. It feels good to laugh. It feels like we haven’t laughed in ages.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t realise just how much we were weighed down by those horcruxes until we destroyed them,” he admitted as they started walking again.

“Me neither. So, back to the diadem, crown, whatever you want to call it,” she said, redirecting him. “I think if it was in the Ravenclaw Tower, a Ravenclaw would have found it by now. And I’m not sure that Tom Riddle would have been able to get into the tower to hide it.”

“That seems fair, I guess. The dungeons seem like a logical choice, given that Riddle was in Slytherin, but somehow that seems too obvious,” Harry said.

They debated different locations within the castle that would have been a suitable hiding place for the diadem horcrux right up until they reached another set of stairs.

“From here out, let’s keep quiet,” he advised.

She nodded in the dim light cast by their wands and followed him slowly up the stairs.

They climbed for what felt like an eternity before the stairs leveled out and door stood before them. 

Harry withdrew the invisibility cloak and draped it carefully over both of them. Hermione took a deep, steadying breath and clutched her wand tightly as Harry slowly opened the door.

She could hear voices almost as soon as the door creaked open, and she quickly threw up a protective shield around her and Harry both.

The first spells flew at this before she could fully take in the sight before her. Thankfully, the stupefy aimed at them bounced harmlessly off her shield and rebounded into… wait. Was that  _ Seamus Finnegan _ ?

She watched as their former classmate fell over, frozen stiff onto the floor. A volley of spells were aimed at them then, and for a brief fraction of a second she wondered why students were firing on them until she remembered that not even a revealing spell could show them underneath Harry’s cloak.

Before she could make any suggestions to Harry about how to proceed, he cast  _ immobolus _ , freezing everything around them, except her. 

“Right. Okay,” he muttered as he lifted the cloak off of them both. 

“Hold onto the shield, just in case,” he added. “I can’t guarantee someone won’t fire off a hex without looking first.”

He canceled the  _ immobolus _ , and sure enough, an  _ expelliarmus  _ came flying at them, again bouncing off the shield.

“HARRY! STOP, everyone! It’s HARRY POTTER!” 

Neville Longbottom’s exuberant shout filled the room, and suddenly they were surrounded by cheerful voices and a crowd of students pressing in on them. 

Hermione discreetly canceled the shield around them so Neville could hug them both. She lost count of the number of hands that reached out to touch Harry or her. It was wonderful and surreal all at once. After months on the run, hiding in the quiet of the forest with Harry, it felt strange to be surrounded by people, all of whom seemed to be talking at once.

She glanced about the room, silently taking in the multicoloured hammocks strung from the rafters, the House crest tapestries hanging from the walls, and the shelves bulging with books. 

“Neville is this… are we…” she started to ask.

“We’re in the Room of Requirement,” Neville replied. “Started out as a good place for Dumbledore’s Army to hide from Snape and the Carrows. We were targeted a lot. It’s gradually expanded as more students have sought a place to hide. The door you just came through appeared a few weeks ago. It leads to the Hog’s Head Inn, but I guess you know that, huh? The room can provide places to sleep and study but not food.”

“Gamp’s Laws of Elemental Transfiguration,” she said. Harry grinned beside her and elbowed her, as if to say, ‘know-it-all.’

She looked around the room again, recognising the Patil twins, Ernie Macmillan, Lavender Brown and others. There were unfamiliar faces too, students she did had not known well when she was a student here.

“HARRY! Harry! Is that you?” 

Hermione caught a flash of red hair in the crowd, and the next thing she knew, Ginny Weasley was flinging her arms around Harry and hugging him tightly. Harry hugged her back, and Hermione was reminded of all the times she’d watched him with the Marauder’s Map during their exile in the woods, tracing the little dot with ‘Ginevra Weasley’ beside it, watching from afar as she roamed the castle. 

Harry blushed red as Ginny pressed her lips into his in a very public kiss that resulted in cheers and whistles from the assembled students.

At last the redhead pulled back from Harry’s embrace to look at him and then at Hermione. The excitement on her face faded, and her expression twisted into one of confusion as she looked at them both before asking.

“Where is Ron?”


	32. The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 1, 1998

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are FINALLY here: the Battle of Hogwarts is upon us. This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I really struggled to get it out. I'm eager to hear what you think.

### The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 1

 

Hermione and Harry exchanged a worried glance.

“Ron didn’t come back here?” he asked.

Ginny’s brow furrowed. “Why would he come here? He was with you. He...he was with you, Harry. Wasn’t he?”

Harry ran his fingers through his already messy hair. “He left, before Christmas. He said he was going home to his family. I just thought…”

“Ron wouldn’t leave you. Why would Ron leave?” Ginny insisted.

“It’s...ah...it’s complicated. There are things… about what Dumbledore asked us to do, and he…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he looked to Hermione for help.

“He left, Ginny. Of his own free will. He said he needed to check on his family. We haven’t heard from him since,” she said.

“You’ve not heard from him at all?” Harry asked Ginny, who shook her head.

“Ron wouldn’t come back here, mate,” Neville offered. “There are prices on your heads, all three of you. You’re officially undesirables. Price has only gone up since you disappeared. If Ron just turned up here, it wouldn’t go well for him.”

Hermione shivered at Neville’s words and the implication: if Ron had come to Hogwarts, Snape and the Carrows would have turned him over to Voldemort. He likely would have been tortured and used as bait to lure Harry.

“But if he’d gone home, why didn’t someone tell me?” Ginny pressed.

“They probably didn’t want to risk an owl,” Parvati Patil supplied from behind Ginny.

“Too many letters from home get searched or confiscated here. Everyone knows Hogwarts is in a bad way. The Carrows, what they’ve done to students, even first years... “ Parvati’s voice trailed off as she shuddered. “I’m sure your parents wouldn’t want to risk Ron’s safety and their own to tell you that he was with them.”

Hermione looked over at Harry, who she noticed was clenching his fist, obviously tense with worry over their friend and their mission. She had to bring Harry back around the important matter at hand. They were all worried about Ron, but they had a mission to complete, and a diadem to locate. The last thing Harry needed was to get distracted trying to comfort Ginny. Comfort would have to wait until this was over.

“We were on the run, Ginny. You have to understand that he didn’t really have a way to find us once he left,” Hermione offered in explanation. “If he’s not here, and he’s not with us, then he’s with your family, and they’ve surely connected him with other members of the Order.”

Ginny was still clinging to Harry with a wide-eyed look of fear and concern, and Hermione found herself surprisingly annoyed with the younger witch’s damsel in distress expression. It wasn’t that she disliked Ginny. On the contrary, as far as fellow witches went, Ginny was one of the few Hermione considered a friend.

But she’d also spent months on the run with Harry and Ron. She’d been hunted. She’d gone hungry and slept in the woods and shivered in the cold. She’d done without indoor plumbing or basic necessities. She’d given up her only _family_. She’d worried herself sick over her lover-turned-spy. She’d watched Ron turn his back on them, watched him walk away, and she’d comforted Harry in his despair after Ron’s departure. It was honestly hard to muster a whole lot in the way of sympathy for Ginny’s fear. No matter what it had been like at Hogwarts these last few months, Hermione thought, at least Ginny had had a roof over her head, shelter from the cold, and plenty of food to eat.  

“Hermione’s right. He couldn’t have gotten back to us after he left, so the logical place for him is with the Order,” Harry said firmly, and she breathed a sigh of relief at how he put a temporary end to the conversation.

For her part, Hermione genuinely had not expected to sneak into Hogwarts and run into Ron, not when Snape or the Carrows surely would have turned him over to the Dark Lord for questioning. Ron may have been a lackluster student, but he was a keen strategic thinker, and he would have realised the same thing.

Before anyone else could speak, Harry seemed to snap out of his tense state, and the focused young man he’d become, the wizard who was willing to do whatever he had to do to stop Voldemort was back. He looked around the room.

“Okay. Hermione and I have a mission, from Dumbledore. We’re looking for an item that once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. We think Vol-”

“Don’t say his name, mate,” Neville cautioned, clapping Harry on the shoulder. “We’re hearing some reports there may be a taboo on the name. I don’t know that snatchers could break through the wards to come after you if you say it, but best not to chance it.”

“Um. Okay. We think You-Know-Who may have hidden it somewhere in Hogwarts.”

“What kind of an item?” Ernie Macmillan piped up.

Harry glanced over at Hermione, and nodded to her.

“We think a diadem - a tiara of some kind that had sapphires on it.”

“The lost diadem, then,” Padma Patil said as she moved to stand beside her twin.

“Lost?” Harry asked.

“It’s been lost for centuries, supposedly. No one knows what became of it. But you think it’s here?”

“It’s got to be,” he said grimly.

Surely they were correct in their logic, Hermione thought frantically. Surely this is where Voldemort would have left the diadem. But if it had been lost for centuries, how would He have found it?

“You should ask the Grey Lady.” Luna’s lilting voice drifted through the students.

“Who?”

“The Grey Lady. She’s the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower.”

“You think she’d know?” Harry asked.

Luna shrugged, a dreamy expression on her face. “I should think so. She’s Rowena Ravenclaw’s daughter, after all.”

At once everyone turned to stare at Luna, and Hermione felt her mouth fall open in shock.

“WHAT?” she asked.

Luna blinked and looked around, as if surprised that she’d managed to stun her classmates.

“Sure. I thought everyone knew that. You know, if you take the time to talk to her, and listen, she’s really rather fascinating.”

A hint of a smile twisted on Harry’s lips. “I bet she is. Luna, can you take Hermione and me to find the Grey Lady?”

“Of course. You should put on student robes though so you blend in.”

Harry smiled as he withdrew the invisibility cloak. “We don’t need robes.”

 

~oOo~

 

It struck Hermione as odd to realise that in all of her years at Hogwarts, she’d never been inside Ravenclaw’s tower. Had she known that admittance was based on the ability to answer a riddle, she had to admit to herself that she probably would have tried to get in just to see if she could answer the door’s questions. It did not strike her as the most secure method of entry, but then, perhaps Ravenclaws did not worry about that sort of thing.

Years ago, when she’d sat on a stool in front of all of Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat had dithered between placing her in Gryffindor, Slytherin, or Ravenclaw. The first for her outspoken nature and willingness to take a chance, the second for her ambition and her desire to plan and prepare, and the third for her love of learning and thirst for knowledge. She’d missed out on the chance to see Slytherin’s common room due to that unfortunate mix-up with polyjuice and a cat hair in second year, but as she looked around the airy high ceilings and blue-draped walls of Ravenclaw tower, she thought that perhaps she could have been happy here.

The room was deserted, the students at dinner, and they had privacy as they spoke with the Grey Lady, a beautiful spectre with a sad look on her face. She told them her tale and shamefully confessed that she’d hidden the diadem away, revealing its location in Albania only once, to a handsome young head boy named Tom Riddle who’d filled her head with pretty lies about ‘honouring’ her mother’s memory.

Hermione felt relief at the confirmation that they were seeking the correct item after all, relief that was tinged with sorrow at the idea that an artefact that supposedly enhanced the wisdom of its wearer had been missing for so long and likely defiled by Tom Riddle.

Unfortunately for them, Helena Ravenclaw was uncertain just where Riddle could have hidden the diadem, but Harry swore they’d find it and remove the dark magic. He did not add that doing so would likely destroy the relic, and Hermione was thankful for his tact, even as she mourned the item they would hopefully soon destroy.

“So where to now?” Luna asked as the ghost floated through the common room wall, disappearing from sight.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair as he looked around the room. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I keep feeling like I’m missing something. I mean, besides the diadem.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked with a frown.

“I don’t know. It’s almost like there’s something I’ve forgotten, and I… I need to remember it. Whatever it is. It’s important.”

She swallowed hard. She’d done the spell correctly, she knew she had. Harry should not be aware that there were any gaps in his memory, or that his vision of the horcrux wasn’t real.

“Is it...you think it’s something related to the diadem?” she prompted.

Harry looked across the room at the bust of Rowena Ravenclaw. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I’m sure you’ll remember it soon, whatever it is,” Luna offered.

Before Hermione could respond say anything else, they heard a thumping sound from just outside the door to the common room.

“Someone’s coming. You need to hide,” Luna whispered. “It’s probably another student.”

Hermione moved close to Harry, palming her wand in preparation as he withdrew the invisibility cloak to toss over both of them.

It all happened so fast.

One moment she was looking at Harry as he shook out the cloak, and the next the door to the common room was flung open, and Alecto Carrow shrieked at the sight of them, still partially uncovered, visible, and vulnerable.

She and Harry both raised their wands as Alecto pressed a stubby finger to the dark mark on her forearm. Harry doubled over in pain, and Hermione grabbed at him, trying to keep him from falling over.

A fraction of a second later, a loud bang echoed through the common room. Hermione looked up from Harry to see Luna standing over the prone figure of Alecto Carrow.

“Did you just…” Hermione’s voice trailed off.

“I stunned her. It’s a good thing we practised that in Dumbledore’s Army. That was louder than I thought it would be,” Luna observed.

Hermione blinked at the blonde, who seemed rather proud of herself.

“Harry are you alright?” Luna asked.

Hermione turned back to Harry, who was grasping his forehead in pain.

“I think...HE knows. That we’re here. She summoned him before Luna stunned her,” he gasped. “I saw a glimpse… of something. He’s angry. He’ll come here. We don’t have a lot of time.”

Harry had not been plagued by the sharp pains and strange visions in so very long that she’d almost forgotten about them. There was obviously some sort of strange connection between Harry and the Dark Lord, but she did not understand it. Now, she feared that Harry would be unable to be in His presence long enough to fight him without being in pain. What were they to do then?

Harry straightened up, still rubbing his forehead.

“What should we do with her?” he asked, nodding toward Alecto.

Hermione had a feeling she knew what Lucius’s answer would be. She could almost hear his elegant drawling voice in her ear.

_If you intend to take out your opponent, do not use a curse that permits him to get back up and attack you again. Even a wizard bleeding out from a severing hex could potentially cast an avada kedavra at you if he has enough time and his wand is in his grasp._

“We make sure she can’t get back up again and come after us,” she said firmly, moving forward toward Alecto, her wand extended.

“Hermione you...you aren’t suggesting that we…” Luna started to say.

“We aren’t going to kill her,” Harry said firmly.

“We aren’t?” Luna asked lightly.

Hermione sighed. She wished she’d had more time, more time to convince Harry that sometimes you had to play dirty in order to win, that a victory matter more than a righteous defeat.

Instead she acquiesced and hit Alecto with a stunner to the head and then cast _incarcerous_ , binding her with thick ropes. Then she stepped over the witch’s prone figure and stepped directly onto her wand, snapping it in two. The sound made her wince. Snapping a witch or wizard’s wand was akin to ripping off a limb.

“It’s not ideal, but that should hold her for awhile, and once she’s awake, at least she won’t have a wand,” Hermione said with finality.

Luna gaped at her, and Harry studied her for a long moment before he nodded at her.

She knew Harry, knew he was a good, decent person who never wanted to kill anyone, but she also knew that he was coming to see that this was war, and sometimes, that meant taking someone out before they could kill you themselves. If they were to find and destroy the diadem and the snake and take out the darkest wizard of their time, they were not going to win by casting _stupefy_.

It was sobering to realise that she would have done it, she would have cast a dark curse at an unconscious witch, stealing life from Alecto as she surely had done to many others in her service to the Dark Lord.

But then, it wasn’t really murder if done in the midst of war, was it? If it was kill or be killed?

They had no time for her to ponder this, as Alecto’s twin brother Amycus burst through the door moments later shouting at his sister for summoning the Dark Lord, waving his wand about. He was followed quickly by Minerva McGonagall.

Amycus stopped short at the sight before him and then gave a fierce cry before firing a curse at Harry, who parried it. As a Death Eater, Amycus surely knew plenty of dark curses, but he seemed to be holding back as he and Harry fired upon each other.

All of the books, all of the training, all of the lessons Lucius had taught her kicked in. They had no time to waste on a lengthy duel, and she could not risk any of them being injured or killed, not when they still had horcruxes to destroy.

She cast _negant spirito_ with a whisper, without even much of a thought.

She hit the Death Eater-turned-professor before he could even wave his wand in her direction.

It was an insidious hex, a nasty bit of dark magic that resembled a stunner, rendering the victim unconscious. It would then close off the trachea, rapidly denying the victim air. ‘Silent strangulation’ Lucius’s book called it. She’d practised the spell with Lucius but never cast it on a person. Until now.

She watched in silence as Amycus collapsed. He was not dead yet, but he would be soon. It wasn’t as instantaneous as an avada kedavra, but it was at least reasonably peaceful: Amycus Carrow was out cold and would not know he had only minutes to live.

 _I’ve just killed a man_ , she thought grimly.

It felt vaguely like an out of body experience. Somehow she expected it to feel worse.

Was murder not worse than the way she’d wiped her parents’ memories of her? The way she’d stolen Harry’s memory of Lucius and Narcissa emerging from the horcrux? She’d been devastated both times, inconsolable even.

But then, Harry and her parents meant so very much to her and Amycus Carrow was… he was a Death Eater, a reportedly violent wizard who had no business being around children. Maybe that explained the strange feeling inside her, and the utter lack of remorse she felt.

“What was… did you just…” Harry looked at the fallen Carrows and then at Hermione and Luna.

“We don’t have time,” she said insistently, trying to ignore the clawing, writhing feeling inside of her that came with the use of dark magic.

He eyed her warily before offering a curt nod. He wasn’t going to question her. Not now anyway.

“You-know-who is coming. Alecto summoned him before Luna stunned her,” he said to Professor McGonagall. “And he won’t come alone. We need to get as many of the students out of the school and to safety as possible. Unfortunately I can’t leave until we finish what we came here to do.”

“The students are safe behind Hogwarts’ wards. Where do you propose I send them, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said tersely.

“There’s a tunnel, in the Room of Requirement. It goes from there into the the Hog’s Head Inn. The owner, Aberforth is-”

“Albus’s brother. Yes. I know.”

“It’s the only way I know to get in and out of the school undetected. Are there - can you gather some of the other professors and help them move the younger students to safety?” Harry prompted.

She looked down at an unconscious Amycus whose lips were turning blue and then at Hermione.

“What have you _done_??”

Hermione stowed her wand and lifted her chin defiantly at her former professor. “What I had to do. We don’t have time to argue about this. The Dark Lord is COMING, and we have something we HAVE to find and destroy first.”

Minerva stared at her for a long, hard moment and Hermione could not help but wonder what the older witch saw in her. She realised with a start that she no longer cared. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was ending the war and getting back to Lucius.

Finally Minerva nodded curtly. “It’s good to see you both. I wish it was under better circumstances, of course. Now, what do you need to find?”

Hermione exhaled in relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Hermione's finally done it: she's used dark magic to take a life. I was always going to have her kill during the final battle, but I wasn't sure who and what it would look like (or how many she'd kill). If you've read "Gone With the Wind" by Margaret Mitchell, then perhaps you'll recall a scene after the war in which Scarlett O'Hara shoots and kills a Union deserter at Tara who plans to rob her and her sisters. Her grim acceptance of her actions and her justification of it is similar to how I saw Hermione in this scene. She's not thrilled with it, but she sees her actions as justifiable. 
> 
> Thank you so much for continuing to read and to share your thoughts with me!


	33. The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience. I started graduate school in August and am taking nine hours of school, on top of working full-time and being a parent. I know a lot of people have commented and asked when I would update or if I'd abandoned this story. I have outlined this story all the way to the end, and the lovely Margot Le Faye was kind enough to review my outline and notes on the Battle of Hogwarts and beyond and provide valuable input. This story WILL be completed, but unfortunately I no longer have a set post schedule. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for continuing to follow along on Hermione's journey. As always, I welcome your comments and feedback.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle

###  The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 2

It ended up being for the best that they ran into Professor McGonagall, despite the older witch’s hard stare and Hermione’s fear that she’d be called out, reported, and punished for what they’d just done to the Carrows. 

The deputy headmistress cast a patronus, sending not one, not two, but three small, silvery cats scurrying away, each bearing a message for the other heads of house. She then sent Luna back to warn the students who’d gathered in the Room of Requirement, adding wryly, “Yes, Miss Lovegood, I am well aware of the sanctuary Mr. Longbottom has created there. Do let him know that he can use that fake Galleon to summon the Weasley twins and the others. If You-Know-Who is coming, we must be ready.”

A surprised Luna smiled and then skipped away, and Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock and the realisation that her former head of house had known what they’d been up to all along with Dumbledore’s Army and the fake coins.

“You seem surprised, Miss Granger,” Minerva said rather smugly. 

“I...was not aware you knew.”

“You’d be surprised at how little slips past my notice,” she said primly. 

Harry glanced over at Hermione.

“Well, um, I’m not sure if this is one of those things that has slipped past your notice or not, but you should be aware that, um...Malfoy’s on our side,” he said.

Hermione could only describe the expression on her former head of house’s face as ‘gobsmacked.’ She sucked in a deep breath and knew she was about to have to put on a compelling act.

“I beg your pardon? Did you just say  _ Malfoy _ ?” 

“I know it’s… unexpected. Wasn’t exactly something I expected either, but he is,” Harry offered.

“Mr. Potter, I am willing to do a great many things to assist you this night, many of them without question, but on this I must question you. Why on earth would you presume that Draco Malfoy is on our side? He let _ Death Eaters _ into this castle!”

Harry looked at Hermione for help then, and she knew it was time. 

“Professor, I realise it’s most unusual but Draco and I...we’re  _ together _ .”

No, she had to take back what she’d thought before.  _ Now _ Minerva McGonagall looked gobsmacked.

“Obviously we’ve had to keep our relationship very secret, for both our sakes. But he IS helping us. He’s passed information and supplies to us for months, critical information that has helped us beyond measure. He does not want to be a Death Eater, and he just wants this to be over and for Harry to win,” she insisted.

“You are certain of this?” Minerva asked. 

“I am.”

“And what would you have me do with this information? Surely you don’t expect Mr. Malfoy to turn his back on his family, do you?”

“I...well, actually…” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she tried to think of an appropriate response. “I don’t want anyone on our side to attack him, and I’d like for you to spread the word that Draco is, um, a double agent, basically.”

This was it. This was her chance to lay the groundwork to save Lucius as well. She would explain to Minerva how Lucius had never wanted the mark or this violent existence either. She would tell her how Lucius had passed information to her through Draco, information that saved lives. 

She never got the chance.

For in that moment, a familiar, sneering voice echoed in the corridor.

“Minerva? Who is that with you?”

Minerva pushed Harry and Hermione both behind her as Severus Snape stepped out of the shadows. Hermione’s heart felt as if it had caught in her throat at the sight of the Death Eater-turned-Headmaster, and she fumbled with her wand to silently cast a disillusionment charm on herself and Harry both. It was not perfect by any means, and she silently berated herself for not insisting that they both cover themselves with the cloak the moment they left Ravenclaw tower. 

“No one. What are you doing in this part of the castle?” the elder witch said.

“I am the headmaster. I do not owe you an explanation,” Snape sneered. “Where are the Carrows?” 

“I am hardly equipped to monitor the other faculty, Severus. I presume they are wherever they would normally be at this hour,” Minerva said tightly, her disdain for her colleague evidence in her voice and tense posture. 

Hermione tried to control her breathing, her heart racing as her former professors continued to speak to each other. It was clear that Alecto had indeed summoned Voldemort, for Snape had felt it in his own dark mark.

“Have you seen Harry Potter? Because if you have, I must insist…” Snape continued.

He never got out another word. 

Minerva unleashed a string of spells with a speed and ferocity that shocked Hermione. Snape appeared to hold his own until Minerva was joined by the other heads of house. 

With Snape sufficiently distracted, Harry withdrew the cloak and cast it over the both of them, holding onto Hermione’s sleeve. She wanted to leave, to suggest that they flee. They had a mission to fulfill, a diadem to find, but she found herself unable to tear her eyes from the duel playing out in front of them.

Spells flew back and forth, ricocheting off Snape’s shield, the armor in the hall, and the castle’s stone walls. Hermione stumbled as Harry pulled her down the hallway, following a fleeing Snape and the heads of house.

They turned the corner, and Harry stopped so abruptly that Hermione ran into him. Minerva and the others were gathered at a large window that had been shattered.

“Did he jump?” Professor Flitwick asked, his small stature impeding his view.

“Flew,” Minerva said sourly.

Harry withdrew the cloak and cancelled the disillusionment charm on them and pushed past a stunned and breathless Horace Slughorn.

He and Hermione joined the rest of the group at the window.

“Was that… a bat?” Hermione gasped as she watched the creature fly away.

“Are you kidding me?” Harry said as he leaned past Hermione to look out the broken window. “All those years Fred and George called him ‘the bat of the dungeons’ and it was his animagus form all along?” 

“Ahem.”

They both turned as Minerva cleared her voice, a rather satisfied look on her face, apparently pleased with Snape’s departure.

“I do believe, Mr. Potter, you and young Miss Granger have a mission to complete?”

“Yes professor.”

Minerva turned to address her colleagues. “Severus has gone back to his  _ master _ , but he will be back. You-Know-Who is coming, for Mr. Potter. We must prepare.”

She glanced back at Harry and Hermione and raised an eyebrow at them.

“Well, then? Off with you. I have a castle to prepare.”

 

~oOo~

 

Unsure of where to start their search, Hermione and Harry made their way back to the Room of Requirement, concealed underneath his cloak. When they entered the room, she was stunned to see that the population inside had easily tripled. 

“What is this?” Harry asked he pulled the cloak off of them.

“Luna told us what happened with the Carrows, so we figured if You-Know-Who is coming, we might as well call in reinforcements,” Neville said with a cheeky grin as he flipped one of their old DA coins in the air. Hermione momentarily wondered what had happened to the shy, awkward little boy who’d been her classmate for so many years. The Neville before her was a far cry from the ickle firstie he’d once been.

“You work fast,” Hermione said, impressed at how quickly Luna and Neville had gotten the word out to their allies and how quickly they’d come running. She was drawn from her thoughts - and nearly knocked down - when Sirius barreled through the crowd to fling his arms around Harry with an exuberant shout. 

Sirius looked a bit worse for wear since she’d last seen him, and she couldn’t help but notice that a small section of his hair was singed. Still, he was a sight for sore eyes. He broke away from Harry after a moment and clapped a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s good to see you, kid,” he offered.

“It’s good to see you too Sirius. Harry’s been out of his mind with worry about you,” she admitted.

“Have you pup?” he asked. “After 12 years in Azkaban, a few scrapes with Death Eaters is nothing.”

They were swarmed then by Remus, Tonks, and then a horde of Weasleys.

“Where’s Ron?” she heard Harry asked George and Fred.

The twins exchanged a confused glance.

“We thought that ickle Ronniekins-” George said.

“Was with you,” Fred finished.

Hermione looked at Fred and George both, but before she could respond, Molly Weasley pushed past her to hug Harry and exclaim over him.

Then she looked at Hermione and Harry in confusion. “Where...where is Ron?” 

Harry frowned. “He left. Before Christmas. He said he was going back home. Have you not seen him at all?”

“Of course. He came home for Christmas, and it was so lovely to see him! I know how difficult this has been for him, for all of you. He left after the holidays and said he was going back to meet you.” Molly glanced at them again, and her face crumpled with worry. “Did he…? You’ve not seen him at all?”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, obviously frustrated and concerned as he explained again that Ron would not have had a way to find them once he left, as they’d carefully concealed their presence and moved to a new location every few days.

Hermione was not surprised at Molly’s rising panic as she listened to Harry. Her son was missing, after all, and she’d surely shown up at the castle expecting to see him. Of course, there were perfectly logical reasons for why had not found them, and if he’d not found them then it made no sense for him to make his way back to Hogwarts. She voiced this opinion to Molly and the assembled group, reminding them that it would not have been safe for Ron to come here, and surely he was with another Order group.

Arthur Weasley met Hermione’s gaze and the look on his face told her that he knew, he knew there were many other, horrible fates that could have befallen his youngest son, but he was not willing to put voice to them now, and for that she was grateful. 

“Ron could have gone to Lee Jordan and that group, you know,” Fred offered.

“S’right, he said he’d been listening to their program,” George added. “Lee Jordan keeps a DA coin too, so Ron could have easily found him that way if he still has his coin.”

“If Lee heard the message about coming here, he’ll put it out to everyone, and surely Ron will here it and head this way, right mates?” Neville offered.

“Yeah,” Harry said, “I’m sure you’re correct.” 

Hermione could hear the uncertainty in his voice though, and she offered a supportive squeeze to his hand. 

Her bracelet warmed on her other wrist moments later, and she moved back from her best friend to check the message. 

_ Have you found it? Dark Lord knows Potter at Hogwarts. Gathering army and headed there. _

They’d suspected this was coming, but seeing it spelled out on her bracelet was still terrifying. She quickly sent back her own message.

_ Alecto Carrow summoned Him before we knocked her out. Snape fled. Looking for diadem now. _

He replied almost immediately.

_ Snake is with Dark Lord. Find diadem NOW. _

“Harry! Harry!” she grabbed her friend, pulling him back from conversation with Sirius and the Weasleys.

“They’re coming,” she pushed out. 

He stared at her for a moment until she lifted her wrist, showing him the bracelet. Understanding dawned in his eyes then.

“He gave word?” 

“Yes. The Dark Lord is gathering an army, and we don’t have a lot of time. We need to hurry.” 

Lucius’s message ended up being rather fortuitously timed, as it snapped Harry out of his melancholy and fear for Ron long enough to take charge again. Harry barked out orders, telling everyone that Voldemort was coming, and that the students needed to be evacuated. An uproar from the assembled 6th and 7th year students threatened to drown him out, as they argued to stay and fight. Sirius and Kingsley Shacklebolt gathered their respective teams and left quickly, eager to catch up to Minerva and talk about the castle’s defenses.

Moments after they left, Minerva’s disembodied voice echoed through the din, instructing all students to assemble in the Great Hall. 

Hermione caught Harry’s attention. “Do you want to go down there?” she asked, nodding to the DA students who were filing out of the Room of Requirement. 

Harry ran his fingers through his hair, a worried look on his face. “Honestly? No. But it makes sense to let the students know that I’m here, that this is really happening.”

He said this with an almost resigned air, but he squared his shoulders and for a few moments she thought he looked less like the Boy-Who-Lived and more like the man his father had grown to be. 

“Besides,” he said with a sigh, “It’s not like we know where to find that stupid fucking tiara. We might as well hear what Minerva has to say.” 

“It’s a diadem, Harry,” she reminded him as they made their way down toward the Great Hall. It was not until much later that she realised she did not get a chance to explain to the assembled Order and DA that Lucius and Draco were on their side.


	34. The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 3

###  The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 3

Hermione and Harry slipped into the back of the Great Hall as Professor McGonagall explained that Professor Snape had left and the Carrows were “incapacitated.” The cheer that went up around them was deafening, and Hermione wondered just how terribly students had been treated thus far this term. She listened patiently as their former professor calmly informed the assembled crowd that students who were of age and wished to stay could stay and fight but that younger students would be evacuated to Hogsmeade. Murmurs of fear drifted through the crowd. Amongst the Gryffindors, she also sensed righteous anger and a desire to fight.

Hermione searched the room, looking for Draco Malfoy’s telltale head of pale blond hair. Would he be here? Or was he already with Lucius? Lucius had not offered any information about his son’s whereabouts, and she had not thought to ask him. Was she still bound to the promise she’d made her lover to protect his son? Not to mention that tiny little issue of Harry thinking Draco was her informant and lover. Wherever the younger Malfoy was, she needed to get to him before Harry could and make sure the prat kept his mouth shut. Unfortunately she wasn’t sure how to best accomplish that, given what happened during their last encounter the night Dumbledore died. Plus there was also that whole issue of ‘defeating Voldemort’ that had to take precedence over everything else. 

“Everyone is surprisingly calm,” Harry observed quietly beside her as the faculty began to sort the student body, sending those who wished to stay off to one side to await instructions from members of the Order. Students were being sorted by year and a group of first years was already headed for the stairs that would take them to the Room of Requirement, the secret tunnel and hopefully safety in Hogsmeade. She hoped that someone had worked out where to safely hide those children until whatever happened tonight was over. 

“Too calm?” she responded, following his gaze to where Remus, Tonks, and a wizard Harry did not recognize were talking to Professors Sinistra and Slughorn.

“I don’t know.” He looked around the room and then suddenly winced, squeezing his eyes shut as his hand instinctively went to the scar on his forehead.

“Harry?” She reached for him quickly, ignoring the whispers of, “Is that Harry Potter?” that surrounded them. 

“I think… he’s…” Harry mumbled before 

“I saw him. He’s coming here,” he whispered as he rubbed his head. “He… he was in a cave, and he saw that the necklace was gone, and he’s furious.”

“He knows that we know about the horcruxes then.” 

“Yes. We don’t have a lot of time,” he whispered to her. 

He pulled back from her and Hermione was about to suggest that they slip out of the Great Hall to look for the diadem, but she was cut off before she could speak. Another loud disembodied voice echoed around them, only this time it was not the stern by familiar tones of their former professor. This time it was a sinister, hissing voice that slithered past the wards, through the windows, and in through the tiny cracks and crevices of the castle. 

“ _ I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and they shall not be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight.”*  _

Hermione immediately grabbed hold of Harry’s arm, as if she instinctively thought she could hold her to him and somehow keep him safe from fate and a prophecy she did not want to believe. Around her, she heard shrieks of fear and saw a younger student crying as he clung to the arm of an older girl who looked to be his sister. 

As Voldemort’s voice faded away, the Great Hall descended into an eerie silence. Students looked around the room at each other, as if puzzled that no one had taken charge to usher them to wherever they needed to be. 

“Well? Give Him what He wants!” Pansy Parkinson’s voice echoed off the stone walls. “Give Him Harry Potter!” 

She was supported by a cadre of students behind her, all in Slytherin robes. Hermione’s eyes roved frantically over the group in green-edged robes, looking for Draco, but she did not see him there.

“You heard Him! He’ll leave us all be if we give him Potter!” Parkinson repeated. 

Hermione and Harry were immediately surrounded by a group of Gryffindor students, wands drawn. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff soon followed, and Hermione’s heart thrummed in breathless relief to see so many of her former classmates willing to fight for Harry. 

“No one is fighting anyone tonight, at least not each other.” Minerva said firmly as she stepped down from the dais and strode toward Parkinson. “Slytherin house will be evacuated to Hogsmeade. No one is handing over Harry Potter. Mr. Filch, Professor Sinistra, please escort Slytherin House from the castle.”

As the grumbling Slytherins began to leave the Great Hall, Minerva addressed Harry and the remainder of the students. 

“Mr. Potter and Miss Granger have a very specific task they MUST complete before You-Know-Who attacks. If they ask for your assistance, please do whatever it is they require. Now, we must buy them time. Let us begin,” she said to the students. Hermione caught her former professor’s eye again for a brief moment, and Minerva gave her a hint of a nervous smile before nodding toward the doors as if to say, “Go on. What are you waiting for?” 

Before she could say anything in response, Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the doors.

 

~oOo~   
  


 

Where should they start the search for the diadem, Hermione wondered as they walked. Splitting up would allow them to cover more ground, but working together meant that she’d be with Harry to help and protect him if need be. The dungeons seemed like a logical place to start, she thought. Riddle had been a Slytherin, and he would have had ample time to explore the Slytherin dungeons as a student. Perhaps he could have stashed the diadem there. If so, then perhaps Lucius could somehow help her gain entry? She wondered briefly if they should go back and try to find Professor Slughorn or a younger Slytherin who could be induced to give them the password to the dorms. She was not, she thought grimly, opposed to using the _ imperius _ curse, if need be.

“If you were Tom Riddle, where would you hide a priceless bit of jewelry?” Harry asked her as they left the Great Hall.

“I really don’t know. I mean, he probably spent the most time at Hogwarts in the Slytherin dormitories, so perhaps he could have hidden it there,” she reasoned.

“Maybe.”

“Where do you want to start?” she asked as they paused in front of the main staircase.

“He wouldn’t hide it in the dorms,” Harry said abruptly.

“Okay. Why not?” 

“Too easy to find.”

“Only if you’re a Slytherin. It’s not like students from the other houses spend a lot of time there,” she reasoned.

Harry snorted under his breath. “I’m sure you’ve forgotten this since you were a half-cat at the time, but it’s not THAT hard to get into the Slytherin dorms. Ron and I managed in second year.”

“I don’t know. You said you thought Riddle thought of Hogwarts was his home, the birthplace of his Vol- um, Dark Lord persona,” she reminded him. “Slytherin was literally his home. Why not there?”

“Well for that matter, why not the Chamber of Secrets?” he shot back. “That’s his ancestor, after all. There’s no telling how much time he spent down there as a student, and we know it’s a secure place. It’s not that far from the Slytherin dorms either. Let’s go.” He turned abruptly and headed toward Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

Hermione rushed to catch up to him and grabbed onto the sleeve of his robes.

“No, wait!”

“What?”

She realised then they were partially blocking access to the stairs and moved out of the way so younger students could evacuate, moving Harry toward an empty classroom.

“The diadem was hidden in a tree in Albania. He didn’t find it until after he graduated. That means he could not have been a student when he hid it here. And if he wasn’t a student…” her voice trailed off. 

“It seems unlikely he would have known the current password to get into the dorms,” Harry finished. “I guess we can cross the dorm off our list.”

“Do we have any idea when he came back here?” she asked.

“He applied to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dumbledore wouldn’t hire him.” 

“Tom Riddle teaching DADA is utterly ludicrous,” she mumbled, thinking about how absurd it would have been to have one of the darkest wizards of all times teaching defense against the dark arts. 

“Yeah. That’s the only time we KNOW for certain he was in the castle after he graduated.”

“So his path through the castle would have taken him from the front gates to Dumbledore’s office and then back out past the wards again,” she said.

“In theory. I mean, we have no idea how long he could have been in the castle. He could have had time to go down to the Chamber of Secrets.”

“Bloody unbelievable,” she whispered under her breath.

“What?”

“By the time he came back to ask for that job, he already had multiple horcruxes, right?” she prompted.

“Yeah. He made the diary and the ring whilst still a student.”

“If that’s when he hid the diadem here, then he had it on him. He literally walked into a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald, and asked for a job while toting around a piece of his soul in one of the darkest objects known to the wizarding world.”

Harry stared at her for a moment, opened his mouth and then closed it again. 

“That...that’s pretty fucking ballsy,” he finally said.

“Or insane.”

“He surely knew Dumbledore would never hire him.”

Harry squinted at her for a moment, and she had the distinct feeling he was looking right through her.

“I think asking for a job was just a pretense. It was a reason to get him into the castle to hide the horcrux. I bet he got some sick sense of satisfaction knowing it was under Dumbledore’s nose all these years,” he said.

She stared at him, as it all clicked together in her head. It was yet another brilliant observation of Harry’s, although the insight he seemed to repeatedly have about Voldemort scared her.

“You could be right,” she right acknowledged. “If that’s the case, if He was just here to hide the horcrux, He wouldn’t have taken the chance to just hide it anywhere though. He could not have stayed here long after Dumbledore dismissed him, not without being caught, so He surely had a place in mind when He arrived. It would have been a good place, a very good place, where He thought it could stay for ages without ever being found.”

“We can’t stay here and debate this. We need to hurry.” Harry scrubbed at his face with his hands before adjusting his glasses.

She wrung her hands in frustration and anxiety. The castle was enormous. Given the number of secret passageways in Hogwarts, she could only guess at how many false walls, hidden chambers, and other concealed spots the ancient building held within its stone walls.

“Okay, let’s try this again. He’s in your head, there’s some strange connection with you and the Dark Lord. So try to think like Him. If you had something precious, something  _ dangerous _ , something that you did not want anyone to ever find, and you had to hide it in Hogwarts, where would you put it?” she asked.

“Oh fuck,” Harry breathed out, as his eyes widened and a look of shock crossed his face. 

“What? What is it?”

“I know exactly where it is. Bloody fucking hell! Come on, let’s go!” he exclaimed as he grabbed her hand and ran from the room, nearly dragging her behind him. 

 

~oOo~

 

As they raced up the stairs, they passed a window, and Hermione caught the lights from a volley of spells hitting the wards surrounding Hogwarts. At any other time, it might have been a beautiful sight, and she would have marveled at the power of magic. On this night it was  terrifying. 

“How long do you think the wards will hold?” Harry asked as they climbed.

“They’re said to be some of the strongest ever created, but they won’t hold forever, especially not under that sort of attack.”

She was breathless when they finally reached the seventh floor. 

“We were just in the Room of Requirement,” she panted as they approached the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy. 

“There’s another room, a junk room,” he said as he paced back and forth in front of the tapestry. “The diadem is there.”

“How do you know that?” she demanded, flabbergasted at this sudden revelation.

“The book, the Half-Blood Prince’s potions book. You told me to get rid of it. I told the Room I needed a place to hide something,” he explained. “And it offered me this.”

A door appeared before them across from the tapestry and Harry threw it open with a flourish, revealing a cavernous space practically filled to the brim with, well, everything. 

“What is this place?” she asked as she followed him inside.

“The Room of Hidden Things. Over a thousand years, I guess plenty of people had things to hide.”

There were suits of armor, rolled up tapestries, stacks of paintings, bits of decor, pieces of furniture piled up like miniature towers. She could only begin to imagine the treasures that were surely stored in this room.

“Oh my god,” she murmured as she took in the sight before her. 

“Crazy, isn’t it? I bet it really chapped Riddle’s arse to think he was something special to stumble across the Room of Requirement, only to end up here, with a thousand years of other people’s junk.” 

Hermione nodded, still in awe of just how much STUFF surrounded them. “Harry, how are we possibly going to find the diadem in this mess?”

He grinned, a slightly manic, excitable grin. “Ironically, I know EXACTLY where it is.” 

She followed him as he wove a path through the mess, explaining how he’d looked for a place to hide the potions book, following Hermione’s injury with the  _ sectumsempra _ curse. He glanced sheepishly at her as he admitted that he’d placed the book carefully so that he could come back for it if he found that he couldn’t pass potions without it. 

Before she could admonish him for even thinking about coming back for that damned book, a loud crash sounded nearby, and Hermione startled. Hermione startled. Bits of dust fell from somewhere above them, and the floor seemed to shudder under her feet.

“I don’t know how much longer the wards will hold,” she warned as she looked frantically to and fro, as if Death Eaters could appear at any moment.

Harry stopped and looked down multiple paths in the junk and quickly tried to  _ accio _ the diadem. Not surprisingly, it did not work. They’d not been able to use  _ accio _ to retrieve any of the other horcruxes. 

“Okay, let’s split up then,” he offered. “When I was last in here, I saw the diadem. Look for a stone bust of an old man. There was a wig on top of the bust, and I put the tiara on top of that. The whole thing is standing on a cupboard. We must be close.” 

“Got it.” She gave him a curt nod and took off down the path to her left, as Harry went the opposite direction. She loathed the idea of splitting up, but they were running out of time. 

Find the diadem, she told herself. Find it, and destroy it, and then… And then what? Her fingernails dug into her palm as she frantically scanned piles of junk looking for a cupboard with a stone bust atop it. 

She was so focused on her search, so intensely seeking the accursed diadem that she did not see him until it was too late.

“Expelliarmus!” 

Her vine wand slipped through her fingers, and she gasped as she whirled around, only to come face-to-face with the one person she’d sought out earlier: Draco Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Voldemort's quote is taken from "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows."
> 
> I'm honored to share that "An Innocent Obsession," was voted Runner Up for Favorite Canon Story in the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook awards on Facebook. Thank you to everyone who participated in that contest. It's always thrilling to have your writing recognized and appreciated by others. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who continues to read and share your thoughts with me. I am so thankful for all of you! For my American readers, I wish you all a happy Thanksgiving today! 
> 
> -Elle


	35. The Battle of Hogwarts, Part 4

###  The Battle of Hogwarts Part 4

 

“Malfoy,” she said softly, as she eyed him warily. 

“Mudblood,” he sneered. 

“I thought the Slytherins all left,” she said as she watched him roll her wand in his left hand whilst his right clutched his own wand.

“Crabbe is operating under some grand delusion that he’ll capture Potter and bring him to the Dark Lord, thereby earning accolades and praise to redeem his otherwise idiotic behavior,” he sneered derisively.

“And you?” she asked carefully. She tried to subtly glance around Draco to see if she could hear or see Harry anywhere to warn him. 

Malfoy snorted inelegantly. “That’s a rather interesting question, isn’t it? You know, my father is operating under some inexplicable belief that  _ Potter _ actually has a chance of  _ winning _ .”

“You don’t believe that?”

“I believe my father is thinking with his dick,” Draco spat. “I’ve met the Dark Lord. I’ve been in His presence, seen His magic. You cannot fathom it. You want me to believe a 17 year old Hogwarts dropout is capable of defeating HIM?”

It hit her then as she studied the wizard before her: Malfoy was scared. He looked more like the Draco Malfoy who’d thrown curses at her in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom in sixth year than he did the arrogant, angry Draco Malfoy who’d groped her and locked her in a closet before letting Death Eaters into the castle. 

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but found she was unsure just what to say. She needed to get her wand back though, and she needed to find Harry. 

“How did you get in here?” she asked a bit more breathlessly than she would have liked.

“I practically LIVED in here during sixth year. I know how to get in,” he sneered. 

“Oh. The...the vanishing cabinet?” she asked.

He nodded his head toward his right. “It’s over that direction.”

“How did you know where to find us?”

“Please. Do you think you and Potter are the only ones capable of casting a disillusionment charm? We left the Great Hall even before you did, waited for you to leave, and followed you.”

“You and Crabbe?” 

“Mmm. And Goyle.”

“God forbid you be without your minions.”

“Minions have their uses, Granger, as do friends. But then, I’d venture they’re not nearly as much fun as having your very own mudblood.”

“You’re vile.”

“Says the mudblood classmate fucking my very  _ married _ father.”

Hermione glared back at him, frustrated at his level of spite when she had much bigger problems than Draco-Sodding-Malfoy’s daddy issues. 

“Look, as much as I’d love to debate my relationship with Lucius with you, we don’t really have time right now,” she said. “We are on a mission here, and there’s something we HAVE to find and destroy, and then-”

Anything else she’d planned to say was cut off abruptly by a loud crash. She and Draco immediately turned to see a pile of furnishings and other items fall in the distance and the glow of a spell cast.

_ “Stupefy!” _ she heard Harry call out, and she knew then that Crabbe and Goyle had found her best friend. 

Hermione took advantage of Draco’s momentary distraction to fling herself at him, barreling into his chest and knocking him off balance with the unexpected physical attack. That was the thing with pureblood wizards - they never anticipated a physical attack. 

Her wand clattered to the floor, and she dove for it, ignoring Malfoy’s gasp of “What the fuck,” as he stumbled into a bureau and knocked over a lamp and a pile of old books.

She clutched her wand and rolled onto her back, immediately casting a shield to deflect any curses from Malfoy. Mercifully, he seemed to have dropped his own wand, and she took advantage of his momentary distraction to cast a  _ stupefy _ of her own, freezing him in his place. She felt bad about hexing him, and she figured he’d be right livid at her when it wore off, but she did not have time to question his loyalty or argue with him. She cast a quick backward glance at Draco, and then took off running toward Harry.

 

~oOo~

 

When Hermione found Harry, he was exchanging curses with Vincent Crabbe, who looked like he’d grown quite a bit since she’d last seen him, lumbering behind Malfoy in 6th year. She paused for a brief second to catch her breath and throw up a protective shield of her own before moving closer to aid her best friend. A red hex flew past her, exploding into a stack of old trunks. 

“I see the mudblood has joined you. Now we’re just missing your blood traitor Weasel friend,” Crabbe sneered.

Harry turned then, to see Hermione behind him, and Crabbe fired off another curse, taking advantage of Harry’s brief moment of distraction. She immediately dropped her own shield to protect Harry, sending Crabbe’s hex ricocheting off the shield, and he ducked as it rebounded, setting off an explosion behind him.

“Harry!” she cried as she ran toward him. 

“Thanks, ‘Mione! I’ve got it!” he said triumphantly, motioning toward his pocket where Rowena Ravenclaw’s diadem was presumably tucked away. 

Another curse was fired at them, and she deflected it. Even though they were under attack, she was elated, elated that she and Lucius had been correct, elated that they’d found the diadem at last. 

A ridiculously large grin stretched across her face. “Thank Merlin for small favours,” she said, pushing more magic into her shield. 

She felt good, ridiculously good at the idea that they were one step closer to defeating Voldemort. Sure, they were under attack, but Crabbe’s magical skill was pretty limited, and between the two of them, she was certain they could easily disarm him, and then she could send Harry to deal with Goyle - wherever he was - whilst she went back to rouse Draco and deal with him. Had she looked with any rationality at their situation, it might have occurred to her that Lucius’s son was powerful enough to undo her spell before it wore off and not apt to respond well to being stupefied, but in the heat of battle, high on adrenaline, those were complex thoughts that she did not ponder.

“It’s POTTER! It’s POTTER!” Gregory Goyle came stumbling around a fallen pile of boxes, waving his wand and yelling for his friends.

“I see him, you idiot! Where’s Malfoy?” Crabbed answered, darting behind a cabinet to avoid a curse from Harry. 

Hermione cast at Goyle, who managed to block it before firing a dark curse back at them.

“Seems like dark magic for someone like you. You sure you know what you’re doing there Goyle?” Harry taunted.

The badly aimed  _ avada kedavra _ Goyle shot back that missed them by at least a meter was his only answer. 

A volley of spells flew back and forth then, a mix of light and dark magic. Magic thrummed in Hermione, swirling, shifting and mixing with the adrenaline of a wand fight. Casting with dark magic had always left her feeling unsettled, but in the heat of battle, she only felt exilheration. It hit her then that if this was how young recruits felt when exposed to dark magic, it explained a lot about how Voldemort had been able to build an army. She felt as if she could fly. 

Any further contemplation was set aside though when a thick stream of fire shot out of Crabbe’s wand. Harry automatically cast  _ augamenti _ at it, but the flames only grew. She heard Harry’s muttered, “What the fuck?” as the natural battle between fire and water failed to conclude in water’s favour at the same time she heard a shriek from Goyle.

She grabbed Harry’s sleeve and tugged him backward, just as what appeared to be a dragon of some kind roared from inside the flames.

“It’s fiendfyre!” he gasped.

Hermione looked in horror as the shapes of creatures emerged from the flames, spreading out in all directions. She’d read about this magical fire, fire that was almost sentient in its behavior, seeking and destroying all life in its vicinity, but she’d never attempted to cast it herself. Thanks to her training with Lucius she knew she would have been capable of casting it even in sixth year, but she’d never dared to do so. Fiendfyre was exceptionally difficult to control, which was why it was rarely used in battle. Whole towns had been razed by fiendfyre when a wizard or witch lost control of the flames. 

Crabbe stumbled backward, then, seemingly dazed at what he’d created, and Hermione knew, knew and felt in her gut that Vincent Crabbe had no ability to control the fiery hell he’d just unleashed on them all. 

 

~oOo~

 

Flames licked at their heels as she and Harry ran through the piles of clutter, dodging falling debris and fiery beasts as they cast every spell they could think of to beat back the flames.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Harry yelled from somewhere around the next corner. With his longer legs and athletic nature, he was easily a faster runner than she was. 

Yes, get out of there. Exiting the room seemed like a wise idea. Slam the doors and try to contain the fire and pray it did not take the entire castle down with it. 

Then it hit her.

Draco. 

She’d stupefied Malfoy and left him somewhere in the room. 

She couldn’t leave him there to die. She would never be able to look at Lucius if she’d left his child to be consumed by the hellish flames. She didn’t particularly like Draco, but she wasn’t cruel enough to condemn him to such a fate. 

“Harry! Wait!” she yelled.

“What? We don’t have time! We need to get out of here!” 

“Draco!” 

“What?” He paused for a moment to look back at her and push his glasses back up his nose. 

“Draco, he’s here!” 

“Are you sure?”

“I saw him.”

“WHAT? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were under attack! I came running! He… he’s in here, somewhere. We have to...”

“Fuck!” he breathed in frustration and looked around them. 

Harry saw them first, out of the corner of his eye - two old broomsticks, propped up against a stack of broken chairs. He had them in his hands before Hermione realised what he intended.

“No.” She shook her head at him. The broomsticks looked like they’d both seen better days. She hated flying as it was, and the idea of mounting an ancient broomstick to be chased by the flames of hell did not sound like anything approaching a good idea.

“It’s the only way we’ll find Malfoy in this place,” he said handing her a broom. 

Hermione gripped the handle and stared at the broom as if she could will it into some other more useful and less terrifying object. 

Harry had already mounted his and was hovering in the air. 

“Hermione!”

His voice cut through her thoughts then, his tone harsh. “You can do it. GET ON THE BROOM.”

_ You can do this,  _ she told herself.  _ Draco and Lucius need you to do this. _

She mounted the broom and kicked off, soaring into the air and narrowly missing the swipe of fiery chimera. Harry pulled up beside her, firing a burst of water at the flames, a temporary reprieve.

“Fly toward where you saw him last. I’ll cover you.”

“Got it” she said breathlessly.

They took off then, swerving to avoid what appeared to be a flaming arm reaching up from the cursed fire toward them. Smoke rolled across the ceiling in black waves, and she had to fly lower than she would have liked just to be able to breathe. The smoke burned her lungs and stung her eyes, but they pushed on, weaving around piles of old furnishings and doing their best to avoid the flames that relentlessly pursued them.

Harry, ever the seeker, spotted Malfoy first, scaling an impossibly tall stack of old desks as flames licked at his heels. They flew closer as Draco pulled himself up to the top of the wobbling pile, using his wand to shoot sprays of water at the flames.

“Draco!” she yelled to get his attention. He turned and then stumbled as the sudden movement made the desks shake precariously. 

“Who the fuck cast fiendfyre?” he yelled back at her. 

“Crabbe. Come on, we need to get out of here!” she said as she pulled closer to him. 

He had a look of profound distaste on his face, and she couldn’t tell if it was at the idea of his friend doing something so idiotic or if it was because the idea of getting on a broom with his father’s muggleborn lover was truly that awful of an option.

“Where are they?” he asked, as he grabbed her sleeve and pulled her closer. 

“Not sure,” she breathed as she struggled to stay upright at the way he grasped at her. 

“We can’t leave them. They’re my friends.”

The fierce determination in his voice reminded her so very much of Harry then, and something inside of her softened toward Lucius’s son. 

“HURRY UP!” Harry bellowed, and she glanced over to see him execute several complicated twists and turns to avoid a flaming dragon.

Before she could react, Draco was climbing onto the broom behind her. 

They pushed off from the pile of desks seconds before it collapsed into the spreading flames. 

If flying on a thestral in her fifth year had been terrifying, then words did not exist to describe her fear as they flew on rickety brooms through fiendfyre. 

It was made even worse by the awkwardness of flying with Draco. She realised - too late - that it would have been better to let him ride in front and steer, since he was far better at flying than she was. Instead he was pressed up behind her, his arms reaching around her waist to grip the broom handle, all whilst cursing that he couldn’t see around her hair. For her part, Hermione was terrified enough that she couldn’t let go of the broom handle either, which meant that they both ended up wrestling for control of the accursed thing. 

They flew at breakneck speed, making sharp turns as the flames leapt ever closer, climbing high into the smoke and then diving down to avoid yet another hellish fiery creature. 

They found Goyle - sooty, gasping for breath, his face streaked with tears - as he clung to the top of another wobbling pile of furniture. Harry pulled up beside him and flung him onto the broom. 

“Where’s Crabbe?” Draco yelled at his friend, who could only manage a gasping sob. 

A flaming dragon rose up before them, and Harry jerked the broom sideways to avoid it. 

“Let’s go!” he yelled at Hermione before darting in the general direction of the entrance to the Room of Hidden Things. 

“We can’t leave him!” Draco hissed in her ear. “We can’t leave Crabbe!”

They turned the broom to swerve around the dragon and she knew that Draco was frantically scouring the room for his friend.

Hermione looked around them, and all she could see was fire. Fire and smoke and death. 

“If we stay here, we’re going to die.”

It was a simple statement, a harsh truth that had to be said. 

Behind her Malfoy moved closer, and his grip tightened on the broom.

His voice broke then as he said the words. 

“Let’s go.” 

  
  


~oOo~

 

It was easily the most harrowing broom ride of her entire life and one she hoped she’d never have to repeat. Years of quidditch had made Malfoy a skilled flier, and he used that to their advantage, swerving around the nearly sentient flames that never stopped their pursuit. Unfortunately his instincts on a broom ran counter to her own instinctive desire for safety, and it was a struggle to keep up with Harry and reach the door to the 7th floor corridor. 

Despite having Goyle on the back of his broomstick, Harry managed to land in the hallway with relative grace, and a barely conscious Goyle slipped from the broom onto the floor. She and Draco were not so fortunate. As they burst from the Room of Hidden Things, Malfoy cast something over his shoulder that caused the door to slam shut, sealing the flames inside and letting her have momentary full control of steering them. He then reached around her and attempted to take back control of the broomstick. She realised too late that he was trying to bring them to a stop before she crashed them into the wall, but she panicked when he pried her fingers from the wood. They fought for control of the accursed broom, with Draco managing to turn sharply before they hit the stone wall. She lost her balance at the turn and grabbed for him and the broom, pulling him off-center as well. They both hit the floor hard, tumbling to a stop a few meters from Harry.

Had Draco been more of a gentleman, he might have broken her fall, but that was too much to ask of him. She felt as if she’d been hit by a lorry as she lay gasping on the floor. 

“ _ You _ …” Draco panted as he caught his breath, “Are the WORST flier EVER.”

“Me?” she groaned. “I’m not the one who tried to jerk control of the broom away. I was fine.”

“You nearly ran us into a wall, Granger.”

She was about to snap back at him when she realised Harry was holding what was left of Rowena Ravenclaw’s famed diadem. 

“Is it?” she started to ask.

A horrific shriek came from the charred headpiece, and Harry dropped it to the stone floor as if he’d been burned. Hermione watched as a familiar black tarry substance oozed from the once brilliant blue stone. 

“What the fuck is that?” Draco asked in horror as he pushed himself up from the floor.

“You don’t want to know,” Harry said grimly, wand out and pointed at the diadem. “Stay away from it.”

She waited, hoping and praying that the horcrux did not fight back, did not emerge with some other grisly or heart-breaking image designed to torment her mind. The black substance evaporated as it escaped the diadem, and then to Hermione’s shock, the entire diadem crumbled into a pile of ash. Fiendfyre, it seemed, was an even better destroyed of horcruxes than a basilisk-imbued, Goblin-made sword. 

“What was…” Draco repeated before Hermione interrupted.

“Rowena Ravenclaw’s lost diadem. And one of the last things we needed to do here,” she said.

“What the fuck, Potter?! You just destroyed a priceless piece of wizarding history!” Draco exclaimed.

“Trust me - it was necessary,” Harry said, stowing his wand and pushing his glasses back up his nose. He looked significantly worse for wear after their ordeal. “Also, I love you ‘Mione, but Malfoy’s right - and you know how much it pains me to say that. You really are lousy on a broom.” 

The mention of a broom seemed to bring Draco back to what they’d just survived. He brushed dust and ash from his black suit and looked then past Harry and Hermione to where Greg Goyle was slumped on the floor, muttering to himself.

“Is he okay?” Malfoy asked quietly.

“I, um, shock maybe?” Harry said. “Crabbe… I… we looked on the way out, but I didn’t see him.”

Hermione watched the colour drain from Draco’s already pale face. He looked around them, and it seemed to really hit him that his other mate had not made it out of the Room of Hidden Things.

Crabbe had started the fiendfyre, which had been epically stupid of him, but Hermione didn’t think he’d deserved to die for that. She didn’t particularly like Lucius’s son, but she still felt bad for him as he attempted to process the news that his friend was dead, burned alive by the magical flames. 

Draco turned from them and bent over, vomiting onto the floor. She instinctively offered a comforting touch to his back, just as she would have done for Harry or Ron, and was surprised he didn’t shove her away. She silently cast a breath-freshening charm at him when he finished, and she could tell by the look on his face that he noticed and was at least grudgingly appreciative. 

“Are you…” she paused. It was obvious he was not okay and it was stupid of her to ask. “You aren’t injured, are you?”

He shook his head and looked as if he might cry. Hermione figured that Draco in tears would only make the situation worse. She felt strangely compelled to comfort him, so she kept a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles. She had never thought of herself as all that maternal, but she’d had some experience comforting Harry as a friend, and she thought of this in much the same way. Draco was a right git most of the time, but he was Lucius’s son, and his apparent grief over his friend’s death was proof to Hermione that he wasn’t  _ all  _ bad.

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Look, Malfoy, I’m sorry about your mate. Crabbe was… well, he was…”

“A bloody idiot for starting a fire he couldn’t control,” Draco whispered in response. 

“Yes, well, he didn’t deserve to die,” Harry finished. 

“Don’t you have some sort of noble purpose or goal to accomplish Potter, or did you come all this way to dig through centuries of junk at Hogwarts?” Draco asked bitterly. 

Hermione glanced up at him, and was silently impressed as the grief on his face before became a stoic mask, one that reminded her distinctly of his father. He was using occulemency, she realised, to compartmentalise his grief and rein in his emotions to focus on what was happening at Hogwarts. Despite his anger at her in the Room of Hidden Things, Hermione was relieved that Draco did not have his wand out, cursing her and Harry both. It seemed to indicate that Lucius really did have Draco on his side - on  _ their  _ side - however reluctantly.

Harry looked around then, and Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before Goyle came to his senses or someone found them.

“Yeah, I do, actually. But before I go, I just wanted to thank you,” Harry offered.

Draco’s pale eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Thank me?”

“Um, Harry, that’s really not necessary,” Hermione said quickly, horrified that her white lie to her best friend was about to revealed for the enormous falsehood it was. 

“No, ‘Mione, I need to say this, and then I’ll stop,” he insisted.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at Harry and folded his arms. “Well? What is it?”

“Look, I know we’ve not gotten along, in, well, ever,” Harry started awkwardly, ignoring Draco’s responding snort of derision. “But I want you to know how much I appreciate what you’ve done.”

“What I’ve done?” Draco repeated. 

Hermione pinched the back of Draco’s arm in desperation. He jerked his head toward her and stared at her for a moment in silence. She sent him a pleading look and silently prayed that he’d go along with whatever confession Harry felt the need to make. He smirked at her in response, and she tried to keep a rising tide of panic at bay.

“I know that it must not have been easy for you, what with your father’s role and everything, but you risked your life to get information to us, to Hermione, and I cannot thank you enough for that.”

Draco looked at Harry and then at Hermione and arched an eyebrow at her.

“Whatever it is that I’ve done Potter,” Malfoy drawled, “I sure as hell did not do it for you.”

“I am well aware that you don’t like me, and to be honest, I don’t really like you either,” Harry conceded, “But I know that SHE loves you, and she says you love her too. You must to pass information along to her like you did.”

“Granger,  _ love _ , the Chosen One is trying to apologise to me. Kindly stop pulling on my robes,” Draco said sharply, prying her hand from his clothing. Instead he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her to him. She gasped in shock as she found herself pressed uncomfortably into his chest and side.

“Continue,” he said with a smirk at Harry.

Hermione watched as Harry looked up at the ceiling and heaved a painful sigh. 

“As I was saying, I don’t like you, but I know that SHE does, and, well, if we all survive this and come out on the other side, you have my blessing, Malfoy.”

A lump formed in Hermione’s throat, and she blinked back tears at Harry’s words. 

“Your blessing? I wasn’t aware that I required your blessing,” Draco said in a slightly mocking tone. She pinched his ribcage this time and tried not to wince when she felt him dig his nails into her upper arm in response. Despite his slender physique, the prat was a lot stronger than she’d anticipated.

“We both know ‘Mione doesn’t have any magical family, but I love her like a sister. She’s like family to me,” Harry said, “And whether you want my blessing or not, you’ve got it. I...I feel better about all of this knowing that, well, knowing that whatever happens, she has you,” he finished.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and then another at the thought that Harry felt better about the possibility of his own death, knowing she would be with Draco. Yet again, she felt horrifically guilty about lying to Harry and had to fight to hold back her sobs. Malfoy was silent for a moment, and Hermione prayed he could be decent for at least a few seconds. 

“That’s...thanks, Potter,” Draco mumbled, to Hermione’s surprise. 

He turned to her then, smirking down at her like the prat that he was. “Isn’t that wonderful, _my_ _love_? Potter’s given us his blessing.”

He leaned in toward her, and to her horror, Hermione realised he meant to kiss her. It was one thing for him to keep the truth behind her lie to Harry. It was quite another for him to touch her in any kind of sexual way. Before she could think of a way to stop him without raising suspicions, he pressed her lips to her own. He bit down on her lower lip, hard enough to make her gasp in pain. He took advantage of her open mouth and forced his tongue in, deepening the unwanted kiss and holding her tightly against him. 

Being kissed by Draco Malfoy was deeply disturbing. He bore an uncanny resemblance to his father, but he wasn’t Lucius. He didn’t feel or smell right. He wasn’t as tall or as broad-shouldered, and his body was all sharp angles and sharp nails and sharp teeth. Lucius could be rough at times with her, but it never felt like this. His touch never felt  _ malicious _ . 

She didn’t fight him though. She easily could have reached for her wand, could have blasted him across the bloody corridor and into the stone wall they’d barely avoided, but she didn’t. Instead she shakily wrapped her arms around him and submitted to a kiss that bordered on creepy in her mind. 

She wondered how long she’d have to continue to let Draco kiss her, but mercifully, an “ahem” from Harry interrupted them.

She pulled back from the kiss and was relieved that Draco did not object, although he did not release her. 

“Well, that was...I can honestly say that was more than I’ve ever wanted to see of your tongue, Malfoy,” Harry said, red-faced and clearly uncomfortable.

“I can’t say that I ever wanted to snog Granger in front of you either, so I guess we’re even,” Draco retorted.

Hermione blushed in mortification and tried not to think about how this particular scene would be relayed to Lucius at some point in the future. 

“You saw each other just the other day. I kind of thought that… well, never mind. It doesn’t matter. ‘Mione, I need to find Professor McGonagall and get word to the Order, and I need to find the other, um, you-know-what. Why don’t, um, why don’t you meet me down by the Great Hall in a bit, and we can regroup there? Um, you too Malfoy, I guess.”

Harry backed away from them before stunning Goyle once for good measure, to make sure the brute did not wake and attack Hermione and Draco.

As Harry departed with a backward glance at them, Malfoy cupped her face and kissed her again, and Hermione had to resist the urge to bite his tongue.

As soon as Harry turned the corner and was out of sight and earshot, she jerked out of Draco’s embrace. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she hauled off and punched him as hard she could in the gut, making him gasp for breath.

“What the  _ fuck _ was that for?” he wheezed.

“THAT,” she said sharply, “Was for taking advantage of this situation to… to...put your MOUTH on me like you just did.”

“It’s called ‘snogging’ Granger. I’m sure you’ve done it before,” he smirked at her. “In fact, I know you have. Want to share with me just how I compare to daddy?”

She glared at him as fury flared in her. That unbelievable git was  _ smirking _ at her. Before she could calm down and remind herself that this was Lucius’s son, his beloved only child, she kneed Draco in the groin as hard as she could. He doubled over in pain as a string of expletives flew from his lips.

“What the bloody fucking hell is wrong with you?” he hissed.

She palmed her wand defensively. “THAT is for locking me in a broom closet, for groping me, and for the utterly vile suggestions you made the night Dumbledore died about what you’d like to do with me.”

After a few moments, Malfoy regained his composure and glared at her. “I’ll tell my father what you just did.”

“Go ahead. I’ll tell him what you did to me - tonight and the night Dumbledore died.”

When push came to shove, she thought that Lucius would likely side with his son over almost anyone else in this world, but she also knew that Lucius cared for her, cared for her as he’d never cared for any other woman in his life.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself, mudblood.”

“And you seem awfully hostile for someone who took a vow on his magic to keep his mouth SHUT,” she hissed.

Draco was momentarily taken aback. He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it, glaring at her.

“Yes, well, my father has always been rather possessive of his  _ toys _ , never wanting to share,” he sneered.

_ You’re better than this. Don’t take his bait. He just wants to argue, _ she told herself.

“You can go ahead and enjoy all you want that Harry and the Order think we’re a couple and that you’ve been my source. But know this Draco - I am the only thing standing between you and Azkaban when Harry wins. So I suggest you play the part of a devoted boyfriend until this is all over,” she said sharply.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “You seem awfully certain Potter WILL win.”

“I am. And from what I’ve seen of you - and heard about you - you can’t possibly be hoping for Vol- the Dark Lord - to win.”

He glanced over at Greg before leaning in toward her with a glare on his face. “Don’t threaten me, mudblood. You may be the whore my father is fucking now, but don’t mistake his desire for anything more than it is.”

“And what do you think that is?” she asked, raising her chin defiantly at him. 

“A good fuck with a pretty young bird. Wake up, Granger. The Dark Lord wins, and maybe my father will put forth a valiant argument that he should get to keep you as his toy. Potter wins, and you’re my father’s ticket out of Azkaban,” he sneered. “And probably gullible enough to keep fucking him too. It’s not like he’s going to ever leave my mother. Traditional wizarding marriage are for life. And let’s face it: my mother is worth ten of you.”

Hermione mentally dismissed his insult but swallowed hard at the rest of his words, for he’d put voice to two scenarios that were not at all unlikely. It seemed increasingly likely that an outright battle would take place at Hogwarts on this night. It might not be the last. Wars could drag on for years, of course, but it could also end here tonight. And if it did end tonight, end poorly? She had no doubt that Lucius would do what he could to protect her, but Draco was probably correct: if she survived, slave and whore to a Death Eater - to Lucius - was probably the best she could hope for. If Harry prevailed as she’d hoped and planned, Lucius would still be trapped by marriage. 

_ Don’t listen to him. He wants to rattle you because he’s a sick and twisted wizard. Focus on what you need to do.  _

It was easy to tell herself that but harder to actually forget Draco’s words.

She decided the best response was none at all. Instead, she turned to look at his stupefied and bound friend. 

“What should we do with him?”

Draco glanced over at Goyle. “Honestly? Stuff him in a broom closet, stick him to the wall, and lock the door. It’s not like he can free himself like you did. Maybe then he won’t get himself killed.”

Draco looked back at where the door to the Room of Hidden Things once was, and Hermione wondered if the fiendfyre had burned itself out yet. 

“I’m sorry about your friend,” she said softly. 

A look of anguish twisted the younger Malfoy’s pointed features for a brief moment before the familiar cold visage returned. “Yes, well, you can help me by moving his best mate out of the line of fire.”

They worked silently, levitating Goyle into the nearest closed space and locking the door behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thank you so much for your patience with me. I survived the first semester of grad school, and work has been absolutely crazy, but I’m trying to take advantage of the holidays to squeeze in some writing.
> 
> I’m thrilled to share that “An Innocent Obsession” was named runner up for Best Canon story in the Beyond the Book Fanfiction Nook 2018 summer awards. Thank you to everyone who voted on this story and who continues to read, follow along, and share your thoughts with me about my writing. 
> 
> If you like stories about Lucius and Hermione, then be on the lookout for my new (completed!) short story, “You’ll Never Know What Hit You” for The Slytherin Cabal’s Twist-mas Fest, and be sure to check out “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked,” a humourous look at the Potter series from Lucius’s POV. It’s not really a Lumione, but Hermione is part of the story, and Lucius has some interesting thoughts about her…
> 
> As always, I welcome your thoughts, feedback, and comments about my work. Happy Christmas to all! 
> 
> -Elle


	36. Chapter 36

The Battle of Hogwarts Part 5

 

With Goyle sufficiently contained, Hermione began the most awkward walk through Hogwarts she’d ever endured, wand in hand and Draco Malfoy by her side. The silence between them was painful, made all the more so by the sounds of battle that were far too close for comfort for Hermione. The tasks she and Harry still had to complete weighed heavily on her mind.

“The wards have fallen,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly, and she stopped to stare at him.

“What?” he said when she did not say anything.

“How can you be so calm, with everything that just happened and is happening around us?”

He stared back at her for a moment before tapping his temple with his finger. “Occlumency. I suggest you use it to focus. I’m sure you know how. I doubt my father would bother fucking you if he thought your mind was an open book for the Light to read.”

He studied her for a moment and then his eyes widened.

“He taught you didn’t he?” he asked. When she nodded slightly, he swore under his breath.

“He… Dumbledore was a legilimens. Did you know that?” she asked quietly, noting his wince at the mention of their former headmaster.

“Yes. My father wanted me to attend Durmstrang because of him. He only agreed to my mother’s request to send me here once I learned occlumency and proved my ability to occlude.”

Hermione knew how painful it was when Lucius tested her occlumency shields, and she recoiled at the idea that Lucius had done that to a child, to his own son, and yet she knew that it also would have been a precautionary measure he would have taken to protect Draco’s mind.

“Did he… did Dumbledore violate your mind?” she asked quietly.

“He tried. Many times. He was good. Very good. It was hard to detect unless you knew he could do it. Had he wanted, he could have forced the issue more, but I’m sure my father being who he is was at least somewhat of a deterrent to our departed headmaster. Enough about Dumbledore. What I really want to know is how my father got into your knickers. I always took you for such a prude,” he said.

The sudden change of pace in the conversation and the way his voice went from casual to cold was shocking.

“I am not talking to you about that,” she said stiffly, taking a step back from him and keeping her wand ready. She had no intention of getting stuck in another broom closet on this night.

“Why not? In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a war going on around us. We could all die tonight. Sure you don’t have anything you want to confess?”

“To you? Hardly.”

“Why not me? I’m here. Besides, I’m apparently the only person around who knows your twisted little secret: that you’re fucking my father and not me. Speaking of which, what on earth possessed you to tell Potter that we’re together?”

She stopped walking again and glared at him before sighing. “Harry’s a lot smarter than you give him credit for. He knew I was communicating with someone through my bracelet, and he knew it had to be someone well-connected enough to share information with me and also someone who could afford to customise a piece like this,” she said, holding up her hand.

Draco grabbed her wrist and twisted it to see the bracelet. He raised an eyebrow as he looked at it and then at her but said nothing.

“What? No scathing commentary about goblin-wrought silver being too good for a mudblood?” she asked.

He dropped her arm quickly. “You said it, so there’s no point in repeating it. That’s a pathetically small sapphire, compared to the jewelry he gives my mother.”

She drew her arm in toward her chest, as if to protect the bracelet. “I happen to love it. It’s perfect for me, and frankly, not everyone wants to be ostentatious. The whole point was for it to blend in and not raise questions. Besides, it’s my birthstone.”

“Whatever, Granger. So I became your supposed lover-turned-source. You couldn’t come up with anyone else?”

“Harry came up with you on all his own after he saw me take a curse to protect your sorry arse,” she snapped.

He looked taken aback and for a brief second, she thought perhaps he was contrite, but being Draco Malfoy, he naturally had to ruin that moment by glaring at her as they descended another flight of stairs.

“You’re such a fucking noble Gryffindor, aren’t you? Would it have killed you to just leave me the fuck alone that day?” he muttered.

“Yes, Merlin forbid I save your pathetic arse again and again.”

They were silent for a moment as he followed her down the hall.

“Is there a reason you’re still following me?” she asked.

“What kind of a secret lover would I be if I left my beloved behind in the midst of a battle?” he asked, a mockingly aghast look on his face.

She stopped again and grabbed his forearm, making him stop as well.

“What is it that you want from all of this?”

He arched an eyebrow at her, looking disturbingly like his father as he did so. “From all of what?”

She held out her arms, gesturing around them. “This! This apparent battle we’re going to have here tonight. The war. Vol- the Dark Lord. All of it. And spare me the attitude, Malfoy. I’m not in the mood for it.”

He paused and stared down at her, and she steadied herself for what she was certain would be a stream of hateful commentary. Instead, to her immense surprise, his shoulders sagged, and he permitted himself to look almost vulnerable.

“I want this to be over. I never wanted this, a mark on my arm, forced servitude. My father couldn’t stop the Dark Lord from marking me, and I… I never wanted...I don’t disagree with the basic tenets of blood supremacy. Purebloods ARE superior to muggles and mudbloods, but war and violence and death...it’s all fucked up. I never wanted anyone to DIE.”

Hermione stared at him, trying to wrap her head around the idea that he was perfectly fine with bigotry and prejudice, just not murder. Could he really not see how easy it was for his fellow Death Eaters to go from dehumanising muggleborns to calling for the extermination of people like her? Did he really not understand that hatred and bigotry were steps on the path to mass murder? His willful ignorance over the power of his hateful words, his unwillingness to see just how his prior words and actions perpetuated hatred and led in part to the awful situation they were all in infuriated her, and she had to resist the urge to punch him again.

“So, what? You just wanted to hate me from your lofty post of wealth and privilege?” she spat, infuriated that after she’d saved his life not once but twice, he still had the gall to think himself superior to her.

“Am I supposed to fall at your feet and be grateful because you didn’t _actually_ want to kill me with help from your fellow terrorist gang members?” she said angrily. “You just wanted me to be hated and discriminated against because heaven forbid you have to get your hands dirty or stand up for anything. God, you are _everything_ that is wrong with the wizarding world. Go fuck yourself, Malfoy. 

She turned on her heel then and stomped off on the opposite direction. She would find a different way downstairs and back to Harry.

 

~oOo~

 

There was something poetic, she thought as she stomped down the hallway, about telling her school nemesis to go fuck himself. It had felt good, _really_ good. She admitted to herself that it was perhaps not the most practical thing she’d ever done, as he was supposed to be her secret lover/informant, but at the moment she could not begin to care. She’d put up with far too much from him over the years, and she was utterly done with his bullshit. Everyone had a limit, and she’d reached hers with Lucius’s son.

She had been so wrapped up in her argument with Malfoy that she’d temporarily set aside the reality of war waging around them. Reality came crashing down when the first curse flew at her with a shout of “There’s one! Get her!”

Two Death Eaters in masks and robes fired at her before ducking back behind the curve of the hallway.

 _Not Lucius, not Lucius,_ her mind supplied helpfully. She’d long-since memorised the flow of lines and swirls on his skull-like mask. It didn’t matter who they were though because there  were two of them firing at her, and she was a sitting duck, trapped in a wide open hallway.

She quickly cast a shield and retreated backward, needing a way to take cover. There were stone columns further back in the hallway, and if she could get back there, she would be safer. Sensing her retreat, the Death Eaters converged, and she drew them toward her, heart pounding in her ears, adrenaline rushing through her body.

 _You’ve trained for this. Everything Lucius has taught you… you know how to do this,_ she reminded herself.

She doubted she could truly hold her own against a Death Eater of Lucius’s calibre, but these two… the curses they flung at her shield were dark, potentially lethal even, but were not cast with the same level of magical power and force as she knew her lover to possess. She stood a chance, but with two against one, it would be difficult.

Lucius’s teachings whirled through her brain, drilled into her through training sessions at the townhouse and at their Scottish manor retreat.

_If you cannot immediately cast a killing curse or do not wish to use an unforgivable, then your strategy must be to disarm and incapacitate your opponent as quickly as possible. Robbing your opponent of his voice will slow him down and buy you time._

_A shield is strong defensive magic, but a wizard of the Dark Lord’s calibre can destroy it every time. Do not rely overmuch on your shield. Use it to buy time to get your bearings or to draw your opponent to a more favourable location._

_Never assume that your opponent is truly disarmed just because you’ve removed his wand. A number of Death Eaters are adept at wandless, non-verbal magic. Even a dying wizard can fire off a hex or a curse, so incapacitate or kill quickly._

_Do not waste time on middling curses, and do not hesitate. Your opponent will not hesitate to kill you._

She dropped her shield long enough to use her wand to fling a tapestry from the wall into the two wizards, knocking them off balance and temporarily obscuring their vision. It wasn’t a perfect execution as it knocked down one Death Eater completely but only partially hit the other. She then immediately cast a _silencio_ , followed by an _expelliarmus_. The _silencio_ hit its mark, but in the second it took her to cast the _expelliarmus_ , one of the Death Eaters had recovered enough to block her attempt at disarmament.

What she thought was a _bombarda_ was sent hurtling back at her then, crashing into the wall above her and blowing out a section of stone.  Hermione jumped out of the way as quickly as possible, coughing from dust stirred by the debris. A smaller bit of stone hit her left arm, sending a shot of pain down to her fingertips.

She cast back, taking down one of the Death Eaters with a sectumsempra. He crumpled to the ground then, the black of his robes obscuring the blood she knew was now pouring from his body at a rapid pace.

Hermione realised she had a choice. The fallen Death Eater was not yet dead and could potentially still fire off a few curses at her, but his partner was alive and well and able to attack. What would be best? Should she disarm the injured Death Eater and then go after his partner, or should she hope the injured Death Eater was incapacitated enough that he couldn’t cast on her? Regrettably, Lucius had been unable to provide actual dueling practise with multiple opponents for her, and the Death Eaters weren’t exactly casting some of the nicer hexes and jinxes Harry and the others in Dumbledore’s Army had used in their fifth and sixth years when they dueled with two or more on one.

 _What would Lucius do?_ She thought frantically, throwing up a magical shield to try to buy herself time.

The telltale green light and rushing sound of an _avada kedavra_ flew at her, weakened - no doubt - by the Death Eater’s inability to cast verbally. She barely managed to move out of its path, but it was still enough to shatter her shield. Nothing could prevent the killing curse, unless you were Harry Potter, apparently.

The sight of a killing curse, especially one aimed directly at her, jolted Hermione, and she knew what she had to do.

An _avada kedavra_ required magical power and skill, which she had in abundance, and it required nerve. You had to truly _mean_ it to cast an unforgivable curse. She had never cast it, never considered it. There were other ways to take someone down, other ways to eliminate an opponent.

As she stared down the Death Eater before her, Hermione knew that it was him or her. Only one of them would walk away from their fight, and hatred burned in her at the thought that this wizard meant to snuff out her life before she’d truly lived it, to take her from Lucius, from Harry before the battle was done.

Magical energy surged inside of her, roiling and churning, building until it could no longer be contained. It channeled through her and through the delicate vine wand in her hand, exploding into a burst of green light as the words slipped past her lips.

_“Avada kedavra.”_

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as she watched the light move forward and she heard and felt the sensation of rushing, like blood pounding in her ears and the roar of water rushing over the edge of a cliff and crashing into the rocks below.

Her curse struck home, hitting the Death Eater square in the chest. He crumbled instantly, dead before he hit the ground.

She had done it. She’d cast the killing curse.

She expected to feel _something_ , although she wasn’t sure what. Instead in the immediate aftermath of the curse, she felt numb. Had the prior killing of Amycus Carrow hardened her so much already, she wondered.

She was barely aware of her own body as she cast again, using an _expelliarmus_ to disarm both the dying and the dead wizard. With three wands in hand, she brought her shield back up and moved forward to check on the other Death Eater. By that point, the surviving wizard was panting shallowly as blood pooled around him.

She consider attempting another killing curse to put the man out of his misery, but she wasn’t sure she had it in her to cast it twice in such rapid succession. She instead cast a _stupefy_ to render him unconscious. It was a small mercy she supposed.

“Bloody fucking hell, Granger!”

She whirled on the spot, strengthening the protective shield around herself and then allowed a moment of relief when she saw it was only Draco Malfoy standing at the end of the hallway.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked.

“You… you just KILLED them. Both of them?” he seemed stunned as he walked toward her.

“It was kill or be killed. Being Harry Potter’s muggleborn best friend tends to be a rather large target on me, and I’d like to live,” she said flatly.

She felt deeply unsettled from the use of such dark magic, and she wished suddenly that she could bury her face in Lucius’s robes and feel his arms around her. She’d just killed two wizards. Yes, there had been an element of self-defense to it, but she’d dueled them to them to the death. She drew in a ragged breath and tried to take Draco’s prior advice to use her occlumency skills to compartmentalise her mind and lock down her emotions so she could focus on the tasks that lie ahead.

He approached her cautiously, his own wand drawn.

“Do you… did you know them?” she asked, gesturing to the dead wizards.

An expression of relief came over his pointed face as he shook his head.

“I don’t recognize the masks,” he said quietly. “And I’d rather not know who is behind them.”

Hermione nodded briefly and then looked down at the two additional wands in her hand. If Death Eaters had made it into the castle, she couldn’t just leave wands lying around for them to pick up and use. She tossed them both onto the floor and cast a quick _incendio_ to reduce them both to a pile of ash.

“You are really fucking scary, Granger,” he said, cringing as he watched the wands burn.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Your father taught me.”

He snorted. “I didn’t exactly think you learned it in Gryffindor.”

“Every bit of dark magic I know, I know because of Lucius.”

“I don’t doubt it. He certainly knows a lot of it.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, still perplexed as to why he’d followed her and was standing there making conversation over the bodies of two of his fellow Death Eaters.

He sighed, and she could not tell if it was in frustration or resignation.

“I didn’t...look, I never wanted this. I never wanted to be a Death Eater. I never wanted this bloody mark on my arm. I don’t want to be here. I was… I was trying to be fucking honest with you, Granger.”

“And you want a medal for that or something?”

“What? No! God, you are such a bitch. I’m trying here, okay?”

“Look, I don’t like you, Malfoy, and you don’t like me. I’m fine with that. Can we just call a truce or something until this is all over? Because I really cannot deal with you being an arse right now. Harry needs me, and I need Harry to be focused on our mission and not on some fear that his best friend’s ‘relationship’ is imploding or that you’re going to go betray me to your Death Eater mates,” she said, throwing her cards out on the table. “And I need to know that you’re not going to put Lucius at risk by telling anyone that he and I are together.”

Draco looked taken aback by her bluntness, and then he narrowed his eyes in anger at her.

“First, they’re not my ‘mates,’ and second, _how dare you_ even think that I’d risk my father’s life like that? The ONLY reason I am going along with this ridiculous charade of being your...whatever it is I’m supposed to be...is because the Dark Lord and His more devoted followers would not hesitate to kill my father for turning blood traitor!” he said angrily. “As it is, they’ll turn on ME if they think I’m disloyal in some way.”

“Fine. As long as we’re on the same page.”

She knew Draco hated her relationship with his father, but as long as he was willing to protect Lucius, he could hate all he wanted. The absolute last thing she wanted was for the wizard she loved to get cut down by his fellow Death Eaters. It honestly had not occurred to her until that moment that in protecting Lucius, she’d potentially put a target on his son’s head.

He looked resentful, but he nodded curtly. “Fine. So are you going to tell me what the rest of your mission is, aside from apparently ending the Dark Lord?”

She stared at him for a long moment, debating just how much she could tell him if she was to have his support.

“There’s...the Dark Lord did things, dark things, in an attempt to become immortal. It’s why he wasn’t truly vanquished when Harry was a baby,” she finally said. “It’s the worst sort of magic.”

Draco paled at the idea that his master was immortal.

“We’ve been undoing that magic, over the last few months. And there’s one thing left we need to do to make Him truly mortal again so that Harry can defeat Him.”

“He can truly die?”

“Yes. Well, not at this exact moment, but soon.”

“I’m not rushing into battle after you, you know.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“My loyalty here only goes so far.”

“Of course it does. That doesn’t surprise me.”

“I took a magical vow to not share information about your relationship with my father, not to act as some sort of bodyguard for you.”

“I’ve literally saved you once already tonight. I think I’m good.”

“I still hate you.”

“I still hate you too.”

“So we’re good?”

She sighed.

“Yeah, I suppose. Let’s go find Harry before someone else attacks us.”

They both turned then and continued down the hall, leaving the bodies of the two Death Eaters behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, all! When I started writing this story just after Christmas 2017, I thought it would may be 25,000 words or so. Here we are at 100K+ with a long way to go. I’m so honoured that so many of you have chosen to come along for this wild ride. I never expected the response I’ve gotten to this story, and I cannot thank you enough for reading, following/favoriting, and sharing your thoughts with me.
> 
> I will be starting back in grad school in another week, and my opportunity to write will likely be very limited after that, so I appreciate your patience in advance. I hope to post another chapter next weekend. 
> 
> Thank you all,  
> Elle


	37. Chapter 37

###  The Battle of Hogwarts Part 6

The rest of their journey was uneventful, albeit eerie with the sounds of battle around them and the visual of destroyed bits of castle. They found Harry on the second floor in an empty classroom with Fred and George Weasley.

Harry seemed to sense her presence, for her turned and embraced her quickly before looking at her face. “What’s wrong?”

She laughed hollowly. What was wrong? Oh, she’d just cast her first killing curse and murdered two more wizards for a body count of three in one evening, that’s all. 

“We got separated and were attacked by Death Eaters,” Draco said beside her, surprising Hermione as he spoke up. “They’ve been disposed of.”

Harry rubbed at his scar and then looked from Hermione to Draco and then back again. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked intently. 

“I’m fine, Harry, really. Are you alright? What did we miss?”

“We heard a rumour,” George said.

“That ickle Ronniekins is here, in the castle,” Fred finished.

Her eyes widened at the news. It felt like an eternity since the day Ron packed up and walked out of the tent and out of their lives. She was still angry with him for deserting them like he had, but she was incredibly relieved to hear something about him.

“We don’t know for certain,” George said.

“But some students said they thought they saw him, so we’re headed to look for him now,” said Fred. “You haven’t seen anything, have you?” 

“I haven’t. We haven’t seen or heard anything like that,” she said, her mind racing at the thought that Ron could be here. It was an idea that had been floated in the Room of Requirement, that if Lee Jordan had put out the word on the wireless to come to Hogwarts that Ron could hear it and answer the call. 

“Where did they see him?” she asked.

“Near the courtyard, someone said.” That was George, she knew, from the missing ear.

“We’re headed that way now to try to find him,” Fred supplied.

They both paused and then nodded at Malfoy on their way to the stairs, and she was thankful that both the twins and Draco seemed to recognise that this was no time to argue. 

Someone screamed nearby, and there was the sound of something being blasted apart. She cringed at the sound and the implication that someone was hurt or possibly dying. 

Harry winced as well and rubbed at his scar again, as if in pain. He looked at her and Malfoy both again before he spoke in a low voice. “People are dying. Because of  _ me _ .”

She could hear the agony in his voice, and while her heart went out to him, she still felt deeply unsettled by her own actions of the evening and the news that their missing friend could be close by. Harry needed to focus,  _ she _ needed Harry to focus.

“Look, the news about Ron, it’s a good thing, and I know he’s your best mate, but let Fred and George do this. He’s their brother. Let them find him, and we can meet up with them all later. We’re so close though. Just one more to find,” she reminded him.

“What exactly are you trying to find?” Malfoy asked beside her.

Harry hesitated and glanced at Hermione, who nodded her assent. 

“The snake. His snake.”

Draco’s pale eyebrows shot up. “His familiar? Nagini?”

Harry nodded, and Draco swore under his breath. “The snake. He used the snake to… to cheat death? How is that even possible?”

“It’s a long story,” Hermione said before turning to her fake boyfriend, realising then that perhaps he could be useful to them after all. “Do you know where it could be? The snake?”

Draco frowned. “Wherever the Dark Lord is. When I was around Him, she was always there. She...Granger, that snake is a  _ beast _ . I watched her eat a person alive. It’s… fuck. You don’t want to get near that thing.” 

His voice trailed off as he shook his head, visibly disturbed by the memory. Hermione felt bile rise up in her throat at the mental image his words produced. 

“Okay, so the snake is with him. Where would he be on the Hogwarts grounds? Where would he go, and what would he do?” Harry pressed Malfoy.

“I...I don’t know. He asked the students and faculty to give you up, and you didn’t, so they’ve attacked.”

“Yes, thank you for the recap. I was there. Where would he be in a battle? No one has reported seeing him inside the castle, that I’m aware,” Harry said insistently, an almost manic frustration in him. 

“Look Potter, I don’t know!” Draco snapped back. “There are multiple divisions, ranks of Death Eaters as well as any allies He has gathered like Greyback and his pack of werewolves. He’s probably hanging back and sending them in in waves to weaken Hogwarts’ defenses and try to convince you lot to surrender.”

“No. I don’t accept that,” Harry snapped. “You passed us information, detailed information. You must know where he is, and where I can find the snake! What is the plan of attack?”

Draco seemed taken aback by Harry’s forcefulness, and he glanced over at Hermione. “I need to find my father,” he said to her.

Harry recoiled and drew his wand, pointing it at Malfoy. 

She cast a shield of her own and stepped in between the two wizards, as she’d done in sixth year, just before she was hit by Harry’s  _ sectumsempra  _ curse. She hoped she didn’t end up cursed again.

“Hermione, move!” 

“No! Harry, calm down!” 

“You heard him! He’s trying to get to Lucius Malfoy!”

From behind her, Malfoy practically snarled at Harry. 

“Where do you think information comes from, Potter? I’ve been at SCHOOL for months! I’m seventeen fucking years old. Do you think the Dark Lord is meeting with me weekly to tell me all His plans?”

Harry paused and stared intently at them. Hermione’s heart hammered in her throat at Draco’s words. He’d told her he would keep her secret, if only to protect his father, and she prayed that he would keep his word.

“My father is one of the Dark Lord’s most trusted advisors, but not by choice. Malfoys are good at surviving. It’s what we do. He’s privy to so much more information than I’ve ever been.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at them both. “Do you mean to tell me that  _ Lucius Malfoy _ has been sharing information with the Light?”

“Yes, Potter, that is exactly what I mean to tell you.”

Hermione held her breath as Draco’s words sunk in. 

“Why?” Harry asked, still pointing his wand at Draco and Hermione both.

“Because he doesn’t want to be there. Neither one of us were involved by  _ choice _ , Potter, but when it’s ‘join or die’ you don’t really have a lot of options.”

“Does he know? About you two?” Harry asked, gesturing between them. 

“Of course he knows. He wasn’t sharing information just to be telling me. He KNEW where it would go,” Draco spat, a look of disgust on his face, and Hermione was silently impressed at his ability to tell the truth in a way that still concealed her relationship with his father. 

“Why didn’t he just defect? Come to Order himself? Why pass information through you to Hermione?” Harry demanded.

Draco laughed then, a bitter sound. “Are you fucking kidding me? You drew your wand not just on me but on your closest friend and ally at the mention of my father’s name! Do you think he’s stupid enough to just show himself? They’d kill him first and ask questions later.”

“Harry, he’s right,” she said, trying to keep her voice in a gentle tone. They really did not have time for all of this bickering. “If Lucius Malfoy had shown up an Order meeting, it would not have gone well. They never would have trusted him, especially after Professor Snape…”

“He could have done  _ something _ though,” Harry insisted.

Draco folded his arms and glared at Harry. “Do you think Sirius Black would have trusted my father?”

“He tried to kill Hermione! In the Department of Mysteries! He choked her!” Harry said desperately. 

Hermione felt her face redden. Of all the awful times for Harry’s memory to be clear and exacting. “He… I don’t think he was trying to kill me. He just wanted the prophecy,” she mumbled.

Draco moved to stand beside her, sliding an arm around her waist. She looked up to see him arch an eyebrow at her. “How interesting. He left out some of those details - as did you, darling. My father does what he has to do in order to survive, but I assure you, he is there by the Dark Lord’s side only because he cannot leave. Potter, you and I both know Dumbledore’s precious Order would never have accepted any help from my father. Or from me. The only way my family could share information was through someone who wasn’t going to attack us, and that’s her.”

Harry said nothing, and the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. It was clear that the tenuous truce Harry and Draco had outside the room of requirement was hanging on by a thread. 

“If you want to find the snake, then I need to find my father,” Draco repeated.

“Fine. But you aren’t taking her. They’d kill her,” Harry responded.

Draco nodded curtly, acknowledging his words. 

“And you’ll message us immediately, when you find out,” Harry continued, gesturing to Hermione’s bracelet.

“Naturally.”

He turned to her then and before she could mentally prepare herself for it, he was kissing her again, crushing her body against his. She pressed her hands against his chest to shove him away and then forced herself to relax. She was going to kill him. If they survived this war, then she would kill him herself for taking advantage of their situation. 

The pompous bastard had the gall to smirk at her afterward and cheekily tell her, “Try not to get yourself killed, Granger.” 

“I so don’t understand what you see in him,” Harry retorted as Malfoy jogged away, wand ready.

She rubbed at her lips. “Thank you. I know you don’t get along, but thank you for not injuring each other. We have enough to worry about without you two fighting.”

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t stop thinking about Ron, that he could be here.”

“I know, but you need to focus.”

He rubbed his eyes and adjusted his glasses with a sigh and looked around them. “If the snake is with Voldy, and Voldy is hanging back like Malfoy says, then we’re going to have to go to him. I can’t let him come in here and just slaughter more people. We’ve got to find the snake and end this.”

He paused. “I wish Ron was here, with us. He’s better at strategy than I am.”

Hermione frowned. “You’re plenty good at strategy, Harry. And you’re right - we need to get out of the castle and onto the grounds.”

He smiled grimly at her. “Off to another insane adventure with me, then?”

She smiled in spite of herself. “Of course. Wouldn’t miss it.”

 

~oOo~

 

Actually getting out of the castle was harder than she anticipated, even with the aid of an invisibility cloak. The whole castle shook with an explosive blast that nearly knocked them off her feet, sending several Death Eaters tumbling from the moving staircases above. All around them were screams, blasts, and the roar of magical beasts. 

Fighting had broken out on the lower half of the castle, and it was hard to stop from joining in to assist with every skirmish they passed under Harry’s invisibility cloak, but she knew if they did, they’d never find and destroy the final horcrux.

She nearly vomited when they came across a werewolf tearing into the body of a screaming student on the first floor. Harry swore under his breath and then lifted the cloak enough to cast nonverbally at the filthy beast. She was not sure what spell he used, but the creature screamed in agony and released the girl. 

Once upon a time, years ago, she had pitied Remus Lupin for his condition, and loathed the discrimination against wizards and witches afflicted with lycanthropy. Now she felt only disgust and horror and zero remorse as she cast a severing spell, decapitating the monster before them.

She had to momentarily turn away from the gruesome sight to avoid vomiting, and for the life of her, she could not understand why the killing curse was considered unforgivable when so many other more horrific spells were not and required much less magical power to cast.

Two more terrified students came running by, and Harry fully lifted the cloak to stop them so they could aid the girl and get her to the hospital wing. When they levitated her into the air, Hermione’s stomach turned over again at the realisation that it was Lavender Brown. 

“Harry, we can’t stay,” she reminded him, tugging him back under the safety of the cloak. 

“I know, I just… fuck. This is all so fucked up! I can’t… I don’t want to just walk away from someone in need.” 

“I know, but the sooner this ends, the more people we can help.”

He stiffened and brushed away the hint of a tear, and she admired him all the more for his strength. 

They made their way out of the castle and onto the grounds, still hidden by the cloak. From their vantage point, they could see part of the quidditch field and stands burning, the flames dancing toward the night sky. 

“What do you think?” Harry asked, looking around. “I’m not sure which way to go.”

Hermione turned at his words, thankful that her attention was drawn from a smatter of blood in the snow a few meters away. 

“Can you… you keep touching your scar.”

“Yeah. I have a bad fucking headache. I assume it’s because Voldy is nearby.”

“There’s a mind connection there. He can obviously send you visions, like of Sirius being attacked in the Ministry. Can you use that to see where he is? To see what he sees?” she prompted.

Harry got a faraway look on his face for a painfully long few moments before seeming to rouse himself from his stupor.

“It looks like they’re in the Shrieking Shack,” he said.

“Not even on Hogwarts grounds?!”

“Nope. He’s there with the snake, waiting for something.”

“Is it just him?”

Harry shook his head. “No. He’s… I think he’s with Lucius Malfoy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s a little bit short, but hopefully a teaser about Ron and a promise that Hermione will see Lucius again soon make up for that. 
> 
> I started grad school again today and work looks like it’s going to be pretty busy for a while, so I’m not sure about my update schedule moving forward. I’ve got bits and pieces of the battle written and bits and pieces of the post-war stuff written, and I’m trying to fit in small chunks of writing where I can. 
> 
> If you’re also reading my story, “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked,” there are two chapters left of that, already written, that I will hopefully be uploading soon. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Elle


End file.
